Chapter 3.
Flashback.
The weather changed favorable from the day before. Iris stands before her kitchen window looking at the sun beginning to rise and smiles. She was already dressed, the cat had been fed, and was lapping up its milk contentedly. She was starting the dishwasher from her supper dishes the night before, but really she was stalling so she would be a touch later than usual getting to the coffee shop.
She really, REALLY hoped Dean Winchester would be there, and if he wasn't then being late would help assuage her pride. And if he was there...well, it never hurt any man to sweat. So a few minutes later than usual Iris pets the cat and locks the door behind her.
She makes herself walk at her usual pace. She takes time to notice how the wet and dreariness from the day before has dissipated and the sunlight reflects off the ice on the sidewalk and road where the rain had frozen over night. The sky is clear and vibrant blue, a few birds are out and about and singing, their songs echoing through the clear, cold air.
Iris smiles to herself breathing in deep, clear, crisp lungfuls of it. It was a beautiful morning, with or without Dean Winchester. The bell rings over her head as she steps into the coffee shop and she's surrounded with the warmth inside. She shivers trying to generate some warmth and sighs contentedly as she smells the fresh baked goods and coffee beans.
Owen is there again, must be working double time this week, and waves to her. She smiles and waves back looking over the warming cases for the pastry of the morning.
"Iris!" She hears his rough, deep voice call. Her head jerks towards the direction of the sound and finds Dean sitting in the seat he'd sat in beside her yesterday morning. Her seat is vacant and a steaming cup of coffee and little brown paper bakery bag is sitting on the side table.
Dean motions her over, so she does a little hesitantly.
"C'mon," he says smiling, "I don't bite, thought we established that yesterday?"
Iris smirks and laughs a little.
"Here, sit down," he says, "I saved your seat."
She does, placing her bag on the floor like always. She sighs deeply after she's settled, smiling at him, while brushing hair from her face and pulling it back off her shoulders.
He waves to the little side table, "Got you a 'caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso and a chocolate chip muffin' Owen swore it was your favorite." He's looking a little uneasy and questioning.
"Oh yeah, that's perfect, definitely my favorite." She smiles, while sending a little glare to Owen who just shrugs a little helplessly.
"How did you get Owen to comply? He looks a little traumatized," she gives Dean a reproving look, "Did you pay him off?"
Dean chuckles, a new sound from him, it's a little cold, not like the laughs she gets from him, which are warm and full bodied, she decides she likes those much better.
"I just asked him nicely," Dean says smiling at her, sipping his own steaming cup.
"What are you having?" She asks, taking the lid off her coffee cup and letting the warm sweet smelling steam waft up into her face where it's warm on her skin and fills her nose with the best smell in the world.
"Oh, just a plain cup of joe, and a chocolate chip muffin like you."
"Black coffee?" She asks, opening up her bag with the muffin in it.
He nods, "Never been one for the very sweet drinks."
"I like it black if I'm not having a specialty coffee, but I guess I've always had a really bad sweet tooth." She sips on the overly sweet coffee, washing down the chocolate muffin.
"I love sweets," Dean says, eyes getting huge, "Pie especially, there's this place in town..."
"The bakery on Old Main Street?" She asks, eyes getting equally as big.
He nods, "Man, I love that place, their pecan pie is..." Dean doesn't seem to be able to think of a word that's appropriate enough as he shrugs, "...Out of this world."
She laughs at his enthusiasm. "Have your ever tried their dark chocolate brownies with the raspberry sauce?" She can see by the look on his face he's probably never even entertained the thought of trying something different than pie.
"Oh my god, Dean!" She says, laughing at him unbelievingly. "And you call yourself a desert lover?" She takes another sip of coffee, "You have to try it."
He's giving her a kind of glazed over look, and she's wondering if she said something wrong but she's quickly reassured when he slides forwards on his seat.
"Come with me tonight?" He asks in a hushed voice. He must see the way her brain comes to a screeching halt at the words, 'Come with ME, TONIGHT.'
He shuts is eyes tight and shakes his head, opening them again and then laughing nervously as he lays a hand on her arm. "Not like that, God, to the bakery. Would you like to go to the bakery with me tonight?"
He's waiting for her answer with bated breath. And she can't think of a better idea. She so tired of going places by herself, just taking care of herself, always buying and trying things that sound good to her. Honestly, she'd never even considered the pecan pie in the bakery on Old Main. She wants someone by her side as she walks down the sidewalk and looks in the windows of the downtown shops. Someone to tell her thoughts to, someone who seems to want to hear them.
She thinks maybe Dean's a little lonely too. Surely just going to the bakery wouldn't hurt...Dean wouldn't hurt her, she had a gut feeling about this man, and besides it wasn't like she couldn't defend herself.
She chews on her lip for a moment and then, "Okay, let's go."
She thinks Dean might catapult from his seat and do a happy dance, she laughs at his face.
"What do you say seven o'clock?" She asks, eating the last bite of her muffin.
Des holds up his hands, "Hold your horses, this is my date."
She shakes her head at him and laughs.
He smooths down the lapels of his coat and runs fingers through his hair, pushing it up. Then he fixes her with a cocky grin.
"Seven o'clock, Ms. Aarons?" He asks.
"Iris, please," she laughs.
His smile broadens at her laugh. "Only if you call me Dean."
"Alright," she says, holding out her hands placatingly. "Seven o'clock then, Dean."
His smile is almost blinding, "You wanna meet there, or can I pick you up somewhere...?"
She smiles at his attempt of consideration. "If you could pick me up that would be awesome."
"Yeah sure, where?" He asks, pulling out his phone to save the address.
She laughs pointing across the street at her little shop. "Right there actually, where I work." She says to his questioning look.
"Alright awesome," he says, that smile gracing his lips again, and she feels amazing for having put it there. "Is there a number where I can reach you, you know just in case something comes up?"
She frowns, only half sincere, "Just in case?" One of her eyebrows arcs wisely. Something Dean is learning he loves about her.
He nods looking as sincere as he can. She shakes her head at him, and takes his phone entering her number under the name of 'Iris'. Dean smiles when he sees she listed just her first name. He squeezes her hand when they say goodbye and Iris is glad she's already walking away when he shoots her one last happy grin otherwise he'd probably have had to catch her as she fell.
...
Present Day.
When Sam turns onto Old Domain Street in Lebanon he's firstly surprised by how nice the neighborhood is and secondly how quiet everything is. There's no sign of any recent ruckus. He drives slowly down the street looking carefully all around, there is no sign of anything supernatural or of direst.
He's beginning to hope things weren't as big as he'd been afraid of, and maybe the woman really had taken care of all of the demons. That just left her afraid and hurt somewhere by the sound of her voice over the phone, so he steps on the gas a little.
He watches the house numbers slowly make their way up, waiting for 500 to come into sight. But it's not the house or the house number that catches his full attention. It's the impala, sitting sleek and pretty in front of 500, Old Domain, a quaint, little house with a wreath hanging on a navy blue door.
What the hell?
Maybe Iris Aarons had finally got in touch with Dean...maybe this had been a trap all along. Maybe the demons already had Dean and werenow using him to entrap Sam too. He grits his teeth with indecision. He pulls out his phone and speed dials his brother, using his shoulder to hold it to his ear as he checks the clip in his gun.
His brother's phone goes to voice mail like it has been for the past thirty minutes. Something is wrong. He's sure now. Sam slips out of the car which he parks a little way up the road and walks into the shadows of the other houses and into the little yard of 500, Old Domain.
The door is ajar, though barely. Sam jerks his gun from the back of his jeans and holds it close and down against his thigh as he pushes the door open enough for him to slip in. He silently closes the door behind him. Gun raised, he slips around the corner and into the living room area, clean, though a little cramped, it was a small house.
The living room was empty, so was a small dining room in the front of the house. He inches down a hallway, pointing his gun through a door which led to a laundry room which was also empty, except for a cat, whose bright gleaming eyes nearly scare the crap out of him.
That was when he heard sounds.
Soft footsteps, water running, a voice humming.
He creeps up to the case opening that leads into the kitchen, if he isn't wrong. With his back against the wall he listens for a few breathless moments. It sounded like someone was making some coffee and maybe boiling some water. He takes a chance and peers around the corner.
The kitchen only has one occupant. A woman standing in front of the sink in jeans and a plaid shirt. The same plaid shirt Sam had seen on the mysterious woman in Dean's bed that morning. He tucks his gun back into the waist band of his jeans, and breathes deep before he rushes into the kitchen, grabs the girl by her arms, turns her swiftly and slams her into the opposite wall.
She gasps, but doesn't fight back as Sam expected. Her long brown hair obscures most of her face, but not the big, scared brown eyes staring up at him from a white, white face. He lets her go and whips out his gun, bringing it up to point at her. Then she lets out a scream, holding her hands up in front of her defensively.
"Where is he?!" Sam demands, his other hand pushing her roughly back against the wall again. She presses herself backwards taking in sobbing breaths, shaking, eyes jumping from his face to the gun in his hand. "Where is Dean?! Where is he?!" He gives her a shake accordingly with every question.
Her hand turns to point shakily towards the door on the other side of the kitchen. Sam growls deep in his throat and gives her one last glare as he disappears through the door in a millisecond. She lets herself slid down the wall to the floor where she tries to gasp in breaths and stop the tears.
Sam goes through the door gun raised, the first room he enters is nearly bare except for some boxes. The next room he opens the door to and quickly steps in, gun raised. All is quiet, but the sight that meets him nearly causes his heart to stop beating all together.
Dean lays on the bed which is the center piece of furtive in the room, sitting between the two windows. His brother is on his back, face marked up considerably, blood covering those beloved features. His right sleeve has been shredded by something, the dark materiel is darker still, wet with blood. Sam approaches the bed cautiously, looking around for any threats and finds none.
His fingers immediately peel the material away from his brother's arm. The skin and wound is wet with blood, but Sam's glad to find it looks like a clean, shallow scratch probably made with a knife, judging by the state of Dean's sleeve. He leans forward cupping the side of Dean's face with his hand, his thumb brushing over his left cheek bone lightly where he'd been hit so hard the skin had split. His black eye literally shone, earning it the name 'a shiner'.
Gentle fingers run over the right side of his head, through blood matted hair, to find a cut just beyond his hair line. Sam guesses thus the unconsciousness. His hands flutter down his sides searching for broken ribs and down his legs for any other wounds. When he gets to his socked feet Sam stops in surprise.
His brother's boots have been removed and are beside the bed on the floor obviously having been set there. Iris Aarons wasn't the culprit here, or the demon slayer. Dean had obviously been helping her when he'd gotten hurt. She had moved him here and then called for Sam to help since she didn't know what to do.
Sam's a little pissed Dean would work any case without him, especially with some girl Sam knew nothing about...and that Dean had invited her into the bunker. Who was this chick? How did she know Dean? What was his brother doing running around only god knows where with her?
The floor creaks behind him and Sam's head jerks up to find Iris standing in the doorway. Her eyes flit nervously from his face to Dean to the floor. When Sam gives no immediate reaction she enters the room, walking to the other side of the bed. She wraps her arms around herself, and looks down on his brother's face.
"Is he gonna be alright?" She asks, in a low voice, that still shakes a little.
"He's had worse," Sam returns, voice quieter now, afraid she'll bolt after he attacked her in the kitchen. "Can you tell me exactly what happened to his head?"
"It was the butt of his gun, I think, they took it from him." She shivers and sits done on the edge of the bed.
Sam raises his eyebrows, sounds like things had gotten a little hairy. Cutting it a little close there brother, he thinks, looking over Dean's face.
"Are you sure he's gonna be okay? How about the arm?" She asks.
"I'm not sure, I don't think it needs any stitches though, probably just bled like a bitch." Sam leans over and rolls the sleeve of Dean's jacket and plaid shirt up to his elbow. There was a long cut in his arm, but like Sam expected it was shallow and just needed to be wrapped up.
Sam looked back up to find Iris looking at Dean's face. When she realizes Sam is watching her, she lets their eyes meet momentarily before she's looking away again. "I, I, I didn't know what to do when he passed out, I was scared, so I called you." She says, looking away to the side trying to hide the way tears glistened in her warm brown eyes.
Sam's suspicion is replaced with curiosity, plain and simple. "Thank you, for calling me," he says smiling, softly.
She clears her throat, "Uhm, I took a look at his head, it doesn't need stitches but maybe a couple of butterfly bandages, I'll go to the impala and get the first aide kit."
Sam raises his eyebrows in surprise.
"There's wash cloths in the bathroom closet and I'm heating some water, I made some coffee too, if you want." She says as she's going out the door, pulling Dean's keys from her back pocket. Sam supposes that makes sense since she would have had to drive them back here, and somehow manage to get Dean inside and up on her bed, assuming this was her house.
Sam grabs a few cloths from the bathroom and pours the hot water form the pot into a bowl he finds on the counter. He carries them into the bedroom and sits them on the bedside table. He gingerly sits Dean up so he's leaning against him and pulls his jacket off followed by his over shirt. Sam leans him back gently, making sure he doesn't lay on the hurt side of his head, and then tosses the ruined clothes to the floor.
Sam soaks one of the wash cloths in the hot water and begins to clean the blood away from his brother's skin, and squeezing it so the water runs out and over the cut. A few minutes of concentrated work Sam is rewarded by a clean arm and wound. It's not nearly as bad as he'd thought, the blood taking away the scariness of it.
Iris appears with the army green weapons bag over her shoulder and sets it down on the bed. She pulls out the box that suffices for Dean and Sam's first aide kit and hands Sam a roll of gauze as she sets aside two butterfly bandages on the bed side table.
She takes the other cloth and wets it in the bowl. She wipes the blood and sweat from Dean's face. Sam is surprised at the level of ease and tenderness in her touch and look as she does it. He's keeping his eye on her as he wraps Dean's arm gauze. She takes her time, and then moves from his face to his head, cleaning the blood form his scalp and hair and then gently, but with precision, applying the bandages.
Sam knows this pictures has been in it often enough. It's the fear of losing someone that makes you shake and cry and call desperately for help. It's the joy and relief at the fact that their not going anywhere that makes you care so tenderly and make all proof of the hurt disappear.
He watches Iris's fingers sweep slowly through Dean's hair pushing it back from his face. He watches as his brother turns into the touch as her fingers brush over his bruised cheek bone and down to his jaw. Sam finds her other hand where it's slipped into Dean's relaxed one. Her small hand is over the top of his, thumb pressed into his palm, rubbing soothingly. Dean's whole body shivers subtly, he turns his head towards her a little more, eyelids twitching.
It was all so smooth and subtle and gentle and loving, that Sam can't help but think there is more to this relationship then first met his eye. "What the hell?" He asks, under his breath.
Iris looks up, eyes shining and wet. "He's waking up." She says, looking back down to Dean.
Dean's lips part, he inhales sharply. Body coming back to the real world, feeling the pain. Iris shushes him, fingers going through his hair again, his eyes flutter open.
"Hey," she says softly, "Hey Dean, you with me?"
Dean gives her a sleepy smile, stretching a little, his hand turning to hold hers now.
"Hey baby," he whispers.
tbc...
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