Disclaimer:Sam, Dean, Bobby, and any original canon belong to Eric Kripke and the CW. Lines from episode 2x13: "Houses of the Holy" belong to writer Sera Gamble. The lyrics to "Angels Among Us" belong to Alabama, Don Goodman, and Becky Hobbs.
Tawny belongs to me.
Oh I believe there are angels among us
Sent down to us from somewhere up above
They come to you and me in our darkest hours
To show us how to live
To teach us how to give
To guide us with a light of love
When Tawny wakes up she's alone in the car. She looks around and sees Sam and Dean standing by the trunk, and faintly hears Dean say something to Sam about separate rooms before walking off towards the office of the motel she's just realized they're parked in front of. Sam goes back to whatever he's doing in the trunk, so Tawny takes the opportunity to assess the full extent of her injuries without Dean or, worse, Sam, looking over her shoulder, eyes wide with sadness.
Tawny slides over to the driver's side and flips down the sun visor to look at the bump to her head. She sees it's not nearly as bad as she'd thought, just a small, angry red mark that's starting to fade. Suddenly another bolt of pain shoots through it, as if it's reminding her that she was thrown against a wall, dammit, and this is supposed to hurt. She raises a hand to it and hisses. Before she has time to reach around into the back seat she hears the trunk close and Sam stomps his way around to the passenger's door and slides in with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the window. Tawny snaps the visor shut and slides over to him, bumping her knee against his playfully.
"What's wrong, Jolly Green?" she asks, and Sam shrugs but doesn't answer. She shoves at him with her shoulder.
"C'mon, Sammy. What, are you trying to shoot lasers out of your eyes at that trashcan? 'Cause I think you're actually pretty close," she jests, and Sam turns his glare to her.
"Oh, God!" she mock-yells, shielding her face. "Not the laser eyes!"
When Tawny looks back at Sam his mouth is turned up at one corner, and she's glad that whatever's bothering him isn't so bad that a little humor won't put that lopsided grin back on his mouth.
"Aw, that's my Sammy," Tawny says, reaching a hand up to cup his chin lovingly. The moment's over when she hears Dean approaching, and she watches him innocently as he climbs into the car. He tosses a key into her lap, then another over to Sam.
"Got you a room next to ours," he mumbles, barely glancing at Sam. He starts the car and pulls around to the back of the building where Tawny can see a row of doors. He pulls in front of 14 and stops, getting out and holding the door open for Tawny. She opens the back door and grabs for her duffle, but Dean puts a hand on her back.
"I got it, babe," he says, and she stands to look at him. She stares for a moment, trying to decipher the look on his face, and he tries to hide it. She finds that she can't quite place it, so she steps out of the way, letting Dean grab both of their bags. Dean quickly goes to the trunk, grabbing his green duffle and Tawny can hear the clink of the weapons he's put in it.
"Don't bug us 'til after eight," he tosses over the car to Sam as he closes the trunk, and Tawny can see Sam clenching his jaw, but he nods and stalks up to the door of his room. Tawny walks up to the room she and Dean are sharing and opens the door, tossing the keys on the small table next to it. It's a little nicer than she expected, but not by much. The wallpaper isn't peeling, but the sickly orange shade is a little off-putting. The furniture seems to be in fairly good condition, there are no unidentified stains on the carpet, and when Tawny sits down on the bed it's surprisingly soft and full.
"Nice room," she says nonchalantly, reaching down to pull off the spare pair of boots she'd dug out from behind the front seat of the Impala. She sighs when she gets the first one off, curling her toes. These boots aren't nearly as comfortable as her others were. She gets the other off and flexes that foot, looking up at Dean. He's standing by the window, staring at the closed curtains, and she can tell from across the room that his shoulders are tensed.
"Hey," she says, standing and walking over to him. She puts a hand between his shoulder blades and grabs at his upper arm, pulling him around to face her. His eyes turn down, looking at a spot somewhere around her shoulder.
"What's wrong? Hey, look at me."
It takes Tawny reaching up and touching his cheek to get him to look at her, and in a moment he's pressed up against her. The kiss is fast and brutal; a hot, wet slide of lips and tongues dancing over each other. Dean's hands are grasping at the shirt she was wearing, his shirt, quickly undoing the buttons and shoving it over her shoulders. Dean's teeth smack against hers and she draws in a sharp breath, pleasurepain shooting straight through her. She moans when his hands find hers and he laces their fingers, pushing her towards the bed.
When the backs of her knees hit it he pushes her down, kneeling in the v of her legs, and he pulls away. She looks at him, taking in how damn beautiful he looks with his puffy, slightly parted spit-slicked lips, flushed cheeks, and wide, lust-filled eyes. There's only a thin ring of green around his blown pupils. He stares back at her, reaching up to undo the clasp of her bra and pull it off of her shoulders.
He leans down and kisses along her collar bone and diagonally down her chest, taking a nipple into his mouth. Tawny arches into his touch, almost overloaded by the hands wandering over her back combined with the tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. She moans as he sucks hard, and her fingers find the back of his head, doing their best to grip the short hair. When her fingers are unable to find purchase she settles for clinging to the back of his neck, gently massaging. He lets the hardened flesh slip out of his mouth, sliding one hand around from her back to roll it between his thumb and forefinger as his mouth presses open-mouthed kisses across the valley between her breasts, finally taking its twin into his mouth. He presses the flat of his tongue to it, and Tawny leans her head back, sliding her still socked feet around to rest on the backs of his calves.
Dean's never actually taken the time to have this kind of sex before. Usually they only have time for a quickie before Sam or Bobby gets back and catches them. Tawny makes a mental note to try to talk Sam into letting them have their own room more often.
Dean bites down on the puckered nerve bundle in his mouth and Tawny forgets about Sam with a gasp. Dean pulls away, softly blowing on the spit-slicked flesh, smiling faintly as it tightens at the blast of ice-cold air. Tawny brings her hands up to grasp his jaw, leaning down to press her mouth to his. His lips part with the obvious intention of probing her mouth with his tongue but she beats him to the punch, sliding her own tongue over his top teeth before pressing it against his. She feels him reach down and slide his arms under her, lifting her up. He propels her backwards, keeping his mouth attached to hers, until she's on her back and he's kneeling over her, his knees trapping her hips.
He pulls away and she sighs, missing the press of his lips to hers. He sits up and pulls off his shirt, and Tawny's fingers are at the button of his jeans before he can even get the garment completely off. She tugs it open, then pushes the zipper down, clawing lightly at the golden hairs leading into his boxer briefs, the other pushing against the hard, hot erection trapped inside a cloth prison. He bucks his hips into her hand, hissing at the pressure.
"So fucking good, baby," he murmurs, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to her mouth before scooting down until his hands are at the waistband of her jeans. He quickly gets them undone, tugging them down along with her panties. He tosses them across the room and pulls off her socks before shoving his own jeans and boxer briefs down, his dripping cock springing from its confines obscenely.
"Dean," Tawny whines, and Dean shushes her, slowly sliding his palms up her legs, leaving trails of fire tingling in their wake. He turns his palms in when he gets to her thighs, pushing them apart. She can't help the blush that creeps up her face when he stares between them, a look of hunger in his eyes. Dean doesn't notice, doesn't even look up, just bends and licks a hot stripe between her wet lips. She lets out a strangled moan and damn-near passes out from the sudden contact. He wraps his lips around the small bundle of nerves that sits at the top like a keystone, sucking sharply and Tawny's hands fly to hold his head. She doesn't try to guide him or push him deeper, just holds on as the tip of his tongue flicks across it.
"Fuck, Dean, so good," she babbles, tossing her head. He hums and the vibrations sent straight through the sensitive tissue make Tawny arch her back and let out a sharp mewling sound. She's vaguely aware that her nails are digging into his scalp enough that it's probably very painful, but she can't seem to let go. He slips two fingers into her, curling them to scrape against the top of her walls, quickly finding the small knot of spongy tissue he's looking for and he presses up on it. Tawny cries out and arches her back again, feeling a spurt of liquid as it leaves her body. Dean laps it up and Tawny shudders at the contact to the over-stimulated flesh.
"Dean," she whines, and he looks up at her. She feels her muscles spasm weakly when she sees her own juices dripping off of his chin. "Fuck me, Dean," she whispers. He doesn't have to be told twice.
Dean places a kiss on each of her thighs before rising to his knees. He grabs one of her calves, drawing her leg up over his shoulder and sliding into her in one fluid motion. He rolls his hips, thrusting into her hard and fast and purposefully, like he's trying to impale her on the rock-hard organ. It doesn't take Tawny long to come again, and she cries out loud enough that Sam probably hears her in the next room.
Dean lets Tawny's leg slip down to his hip and leans forward on his forearms, bracketing her head. His fingers tangle in her hair, tilting her head to the right angle so he can kiss her, his tongue licking at the inside of her mouth and she can taste herself, salty and sweet mingled in with the spicy earthiness that is completely Dean. She can feel him grunt lightly as he ruts into her with enough force to make the headboard slam into the wall in time with his thrusts.
"Fuck, Tawny, m'gonna –" he full out whimpers, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. His thrusts become more erratic and his grip tightens on her hair as his teeth close around the tendon she knows is standing out on her neck, and the pleasure-pain shoots straight between her legs and they come at the same time, Tawny's walls fluttering and clenching around him as he paints her channel with slick, hot come.
He collapses on her, his body slippery with sweat, and he breathes hot, ragged breaths over Tawny's throat. He thrusts his hips weakly a few more times, and Tawny knows his softening dick leaks out another bit of come. His breathing finally starts to even out and he lifts his head, kissing Tawny's mouth a few times as he pulls out of her. She shivers and Dean tenses above her, pulling back to look at her, his liquid-emerald eyes filled with concern.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Dean asks, his voice shaky but determined. Tawny reaches up and flattens her palm against his sweaty forehead, pushing back his hair as she shakes her head.
"No, baby," she whispers, smiling and pushing up to press a kiss to his reddened lips. They're hot against her mouth. When she pulls away he's still staring down at her, like he's wondering if she's lying.
"Dean, I promise, you didn't hurt me. It – That was fucking amazing, actually," she says, chuckling softly. His eyes flicker across her face for a moment, his eyebrows knitting together.
"Why'd you make that face when I pulled out, then?" he presses, brushing a sweaty piece of hair off of her forehead. She smiles faintly at him. Dean always doubts himself at the strangest, most ridiculous times. Tawny shrugs.
"I just don't like it when you're not in me anymore. Makes me feel… empty, I guess," she mutters, suddenly unable to look him in the eye as she blushes, but she doesn't need to see his face to know he's smirking. He doesn't say anything, though, just shakes his head and rolls off of her. She rolls on her side and props her head up on one hand, watching as he walks to the bathroom. Her eyes drift down from his lightly freckled shoulders, drifting over his sculpted back to the two porcelain globes of his ass. The tight muscles ripple under smooth skin and she has to swallow back a moan.
"Are you starin' at my ass again?" he asks, turning, and she wonders if she was staring so hard he could feel it.
"Mmhmm," she hums happily, grinning at him. He smirks and turns back around, leaning against the doorframe as he shifts his weight to one foot, jutting one hip out.
"How do I look?" he tosses over his shoulder, turning his head to look at her awkwardly. She rolls her eyes.
"Like you could be the next Playboy bunny."
Dean grins and turns, blowing her a kiss and she has to roll over onto her stomach and bury her face in the comforter to suppress the giggles that overtake her. She laughs into the bed for a minute or so, and when she looks up Dean isn't in the doorway anymore and she can hear the bath running. She hears some shuffling before Dean pokes his head out, his eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline.
"You comin', you little sphinx?" he asks. Tawny jumps out of the bed and practically runs to him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kisses him. His arms go around her waist and he pulls her to him, letting his tongue swirl lazily into her mouth. He pulls away after a moment and tucks a strand of hair behind Tawny's ear. He looks into her eyes and opens his mouth like he wants to say something important, but closes it a second later, shaking his head slightly.
"You okay, baby?" Tawny asks, concerned. She hates that he feels he needs to keep secrets from her. He nods, then slaps his palms against her rear, squeezing them as he pulls her impossibly closer.
"You ready for round two?" he enthuses, and before Tawny can answer he pulls her to the tub.
Tawny's in the bathroom when she hears the door to the motel room open and close. She turns off the sink faucet and grabs the thin hand towel next to it, drying her hands as she hears Sam's voice. Dean answers back and she listens to them for a minute. She tosses the towel back down onto the counter and steps out of the bathroom in time for Dean to complain about being stuck in the motel while Sam gets to go out and do some digging for the case Bobby alerted them to.
"Hey, you were the bank robber on the 11:00 news, not me. We can't risk you just walking into a government facility," Sam says, and Tawny leans against the doorframe and crosses her arms over her chest. Dean rolls his eyes from the bed he's sprawled out on, the vibrations from the 'Magic Fingers' making his body shake. He only hums in response and Sam waves his hand at him before turning and heading towards the bathroom. He brushes past Tawny and leans over the sink as she hears the chime of the bed, telling Dean he needs to feed it another quarter.
"Aw, dammit. That was my last quarter," he groans, looking over at the night table and pulling his headphones out. He sits up and scoots to the end of the bed, looking at Tawny.
"Hey, babe, you got any quarters?" he asks desperately. Tawny rolls her eyes.
"Not for you, perv," she says, turning to brace her back against the doorframe. She lifts a hand, picking at the nail of her index finger.
"What about you, Sam? Got any quarters?" he practically begs.
"No," Sam answers sternly, scrubbing at his hands. Dean saunters over to the doorway, resting his forearm next to Tawny's head.
"So, did you get in to see that crazy hooker?" he asks as smoothly as ever. He grabs Tawny's hand, pressing the back of it into his palm as he laces his fingers with hers from behind, and rests their joined hands on her belly.
"Yeah," Sam answers, turning off the tap and grabbing the bunched up hand towel "Gloria Sitnik. And I'm not so sure she's crazy."
Dean glances at Tawny, confused. "But she seriously believes that she was…" he frowns "touched by an angel?"
"Yeah," Sam answers, scoffing. Tawny can tell it isn't because of anything Gloria Sitnik said. "Blinding light, feelings of spiritual ecstasy, the works. I mean, she's living in a locked ward, and she's totally at peace."
"Oh, yeah, you're right – sounds completely sane," Dean says, smirking down at Tawny. She raises her eyebrows in disapproval. "What about the dude she stabbed?" He looks at Sam expectantly.
"Uh, Carl Gulley. Said she killed him 'cause he was evil."
"Was he?"
"I don't know. I mean, I couldn't find any dirt on him. He didn't have a criminal record, he worked at the campus library, had lots of friends, was a churchgoer."
Sam walks forward and Dean drops Tawny's hand as Sam slips between them. Dean hums as he turns.
"So, Gloria's just your standard-issue wacko?" he asks, following his brother, who's shrugging off his jacket. Tawny walks over to the foot of the closest bed and sits, curling on leg under her.
"I mean," Dean continues, scoffing "she wouldn't be the first nutjob in history to kill in the name of religion, know what I mean?"
"No," Sam agrees turning to him. "But she's the second in town to murder because an angel told them to. Little bit odd, don't you think?" Dean looks at Tawny, who shrugs.
"Odd – yeah. Supernatural – maybe. But angels – I don't think so."
"Why not?" Sam asks.
"'Cause there's no such thing, Sam," Dean replies, sounding like Sam asked if the Easter Bunny is real. Tawny stands, interjecting before Sam can speak.
"Dean, there's ten times as much lore about angels as there is about anything else we've ever hunted," she points out. It's true; at least a third of her father's books are about angels, and most of them are the thickest books he owns.
"You know what, there's a ton of lore on unicorns, too," Dean retorts. "In fact, I hear they – they ride on silver moonbeams and they shoot rainbows outta their ass."
Tawny looks at him, her eyes narrowing, but what Sam says almost makes her laugh.
"Wait, there's no such thing as unicorns?"
He stares up at Dean pathetically through his long eyelashes and Tawny can't help the grin that comes to her lips. But then Dean has to go and ruin it.
"I'm just saying, there's some legends that you just – you file under 'bull crap'."
He sits down in a chair and flips open some car magazine and Tawny stares at him.
"And you've got angels on the 'bull crap' list?" she asks, and he doesn't even look at her.
"Yep."
"Why?" she asks, stepping closer to him. He pauses and looks up at her, a ridiculously innocent look on his face.
"Because I've never seen one."
"So what?" she replies, rolling her eyes at him. Sometimes she can't believe he's a hunter.
"So I believe in what I can see," he replies, and Tawny gets the feeling that she's lost some of his respect. She hopes she's wrong.
"Dean, the three of us have seen things most people couldn't even dream about."
"Exactly," he says, setting down the magazine and leaning forward, sheer determination on his face. "With our own eyes – that's hard proof, okay? But in all this time, I have never seen anything that looks like an angel, and don't you think that if they existed we would have crossed paths with them or at least know someone that crossed paths with them? No. This is a – a demon or a spirit. You know, they find people a few fries short of a happy meal, and they trick them into killing these randoms."
By the time Dean's finished, Tawny's face is flushed and angry tears sting her eyes. She can't even bring herself to speak, and luckily Sam cuts in.
"Maybe," he says. Dean looks away from Tawny's glare and fixes his gaze on Sam.
"Can we just – I'm going stir-crazy, man. Hey, let's go by Gloria's apartment, huh?"
Sam scoffs as Dean walks to the bed Tawny's sharing with him and sits down across from him.
"I was just there. Nothing. No sulfer, no EMF."
Dean knits his eyebrows, looking in Tawny's direction.
"You didn't see any fluffy, white wing feathers?"
Tawny hardens her glare. With all of Dean's unlimited abilities, the greatest is his ability to be the world's biggest ass. Sam scoffs.
"But," he continues, looking away "Gloria did say the angel gave her a sign… right beside Carl Gulley's doorway."
"Could be something at his house. It's worth checkin' out," Dean says hopefully. Sam nods and stands.
"Gimme two minutes," he mumbles, walking towards the bathroom. Tawny follows him with her eyes until the door is closed. She glares sullenly at the wall next to it, avoiding Dean's gaze as he walks towards her.
"Look, Tawny, I'm sorry for disagreeing with you –" he starts, but Tawny raises a hand.
"Don't, Dean," she warns, but he walks up to her, wrapping his hand around her wrist loosely to gently pull her towards him.
"Don't what? Don't tell you you're wrong? Tawny, there are no such things as angels, there's no God. Hell, I'm not even sure there's a heaven."
She finally meets his eyes, pulling her hand roughly from his grasp.
"You don't get it, do you?" she spits, pushing at his chest as she passes him, spinning to look at him when she's across the room. "If there's no God, how come exorcisms work, huh?"
He looks at her dumbfounded, so she continues, the words spilling out before she can stop them.
"The Rite of Exorcism invokes the power of God, Dean. Have you ever actually thought about what the words mean? When you exorcise a demon, you don't suddenly have the power to send it back to hell. You ask for God to do it, and he does. God-damn it, Dean. God is real. Heaven – heaven is real!"
He stares at her like he knows damn-well that this has absolutely nothing to do with demons, at least not the kind from hell. She presses the back of her hand against her mouth, looking away from him as she tries to keep from sobbing. She sinks down onto the bed, dropping her face. When she was little she thought her mother had become an angel, at least that's what Bobby told her. He said mommy was watching over her, and would always take care of her, and she believed it. Even after she found out angels weren't spirits of dead loved ones, but altogether independent creations of God, she forced herself to believe her mother was waiting for her and that Tawny would get to see her one day. For Dean, the man she loves more than anything and wants to share her whole self with, to say none of it was real crushed her. Completely, undeniably crushed her.
Tawny has her eyes forced shut and her hand still pressed brutally into her mouth when she feels the bed beside her dip. She can sense the heat radiating off of Dean's body before she actually feels him pressed against her side, but when she does she leans away from him. Dean pulls her hand away from her lips and she can taste blood.
"I'm sorry, Tawny," he murmurs against her forehead, pressing a few kisses to it. Tawny's afraid for a moment he's going to pull a Sam and try to push her into talking, but he doesn't. He just sits with her, softly running his fingers through her hair during the minute or so it takes her to compose herself. When she finally looks up only a few tears have leaked out, ones Dean immediately brushes the pads of his thumbs over in an effort to get rid of them. All he really succeeds in doing is smearing them around a little, but the kiss he presses to her lips makes up for it.
"I really am sorry, baby," he whispers, pressing his forehead against hers. She nods, and he continues.
"Look, it's hard for me to believe in something I've never seen, something with no tangible evidence. I guess my brain can't – with all the stuff I've seen, creatures I've come up against, it isn't big enough to try to even imagine there's more out there that I haven't seen. But if you believe, I'll try to."
Tawny looks up and is almost blown away by the honesty in his eyes. There were so many times as a kid that he would say stuff like that to her, but she knew it was just to get her to calm down after a particularly bad nightmare. Right now, though, he was telling the honest-to-God truth, pardon the pun.
"Thank you," she says, leaning forward to press another kiss to his mouth. She hears the bathroom door open and footsteps as Sam walks out, then a heavy sigh.
"Can't I even go to the bathroom without you guys getting boners?" he asks. When Tawny looks up he's standing by the open door with a look of disgust on his face. Tawny offers him a lopsided grin and he rolls his eyes.
"Can we please go now?" he asks, and Dean stands, pulling Tawny up with him as he shoots Sam a look.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, ya moose. Shut up already."
No matter how hard Dean tries, he can't keep the promise he made to Tawny. It's not that he doesn't want to; he just can't, and it absolutely kills him to break a promise to her. Next to Sam, she's the most important thing in his life. For eighteen years, his father had drilled into his skull that the only important thing is to 'protect Sammy!' and Dean's come to realize that's the skill John wanted him to perfect more than anything, more than hunting itself. Starting at the age of four he made Dean his soldier. He taught Dean first aid, the importance of salting every visible crack in a room, shoot guns that almost weighed more than he did. Then, when he was seven, his responsibility grew.
John first brought the boys to the Singer's on December 1, 1985, just over two weeks after her mother died. John didn't tell him how, just said that she'd 'passed away'. It was a euphemism Dean was familiar with. When Dean took his first step into Bobby's house it was incredibly different from the house they live in today. Sure, it was the same walls, same floor, even the same wallpaper, but it was different. It was clean, everything was in order.
The memory is a blur except for a few things. He distinctly remembers Sam's hand grasping the leg of his pants, his chubby two-year-old fingers barely able to keep hold of the rough denim. He remembers shaking Bobby's hand, remembers how it swallowed Dean's up in its calloused warmth. And he remembers the first time he saw Tawny. She was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, an old tattered ragdoll in one hand, half a peanut butter and jelly in the other. He remembers her chubby cheeks being smeared with the sticky jelly as she played with the doll, bouncing it along the floor and humming a tune she'd probably made up.
Dean was standing in the doorway of the kitchen when Tawny looked up, her brown eyes going wide with a smile to match them. She tried to stand, probably to run over and play, but her feet got caught in the dress she was wearing and she tumbled forward, her elbows hitting the floor. The sandwich fell to the ground along with the ragdoll, and Tawny burst into tears. Her wails of pain and fear made Dean's small chest ache, and he nearly ran over to her, Sammy trailing along behind him.
He sat next to her, pulling her into his lap and rubbing soothing circles into her back as he shushed her. He knew she was more scared than hurt, like Sammy usually was whenever he fell, so Dean just did the same thing to Tawny that he did to Sam. He pressed his cheek into her hair and softly sang Hey Jude to her like his mother did when he was hurt or sad or sick. It worked, too, because Tawny stopped crying almost instantly and tucked her head under his chin, sniffling softly. He vaguely remembers John walking in, but the memory ends.
That's when he took on the responsibility of protecting both Sam and Tawny. And it was a huge responsibility. Dean hated to see Tawny get hurt, but some of his best memories are of Tawny getting herself into some kind of situation that required the kind of poise she just doesn't possess. There are certain things she can do perfectly; hit a target from close to a thousand feet with her Colt, reload a shotgun in 2.3 seconds flat (he timed it once and they had to physically show John and Bobby for them to believe it), and he felt bad for anyone who pissed her off when she had a blade in her hand. Yet, at the same time, she was constantly tripping, falling, or bumping into things. Dean had learned to stop asking where her bruises came from because most of the time she would shrug and say she didn't know. A few of them he was there for, though, and even though it made it heart ache to see her in any kind of pain, Dean couldn't help but laugh at some of her less-than-graceful moments.
Like one time when she was about 12 she was carrying Sam's bag into the house and she got her foot caught in the shoulder strap. Now, most people would stop to untangle it, but did Tawny? No. She just kept walking, tripped, and did a full somersault over the bag. Dean was sixteen and it scared the hell out of him because she just sat there with a shocked look on her face for a moment, but as soon as she started laughing, he did, too. As she got older, she learned how to avoid situations like that, but he still caught her tripping on a stair (the same one she'd been tripping on for years, since the top part stuck out a little further than it was supposed to. Dean offered to fix it once, but she shot him a look and told him it 'gives the house some personality') or she would move just a little too fast and get her foot caught on a rug or something. She always laughed it off and called it her 'biggest little imperfection'.
She's never thought that she's perfect, but Dean tries to insist whenever he's given the chance. Yeah, she can be a little grumpy sometimes, she's got a temper like no one else, and she absolutely refuses to wake up when her alarm goes off, but to Dean these are all things that make her even more desirable. She's a fierce and loyal friend, a great cook, and Dean is always glad she has his back during a fight. That's the only time she never falters. She always knows what her body is going to be doing when, and she can anticipate her opponents' movements so closely that Dean sometimes wonders if she's a little bit psychic.
If Dean enjoys watching Tawny fight, he loves watching her sleep. She looks so peaceful, all of the premature worry lines around her eyes and mouth disappear, and her lips part slightly. And, no matter how cold it is, she never wears anything more than a huge t-shirt and shorts, and usually it's just the shirt. When she was little she refused to sleep alone. Bobby let Sam and Dean share Tawny's room until she was six or seven; they would sleep on the floor in sleeping bags while Tawny slept in her bed. Every night he would wake up to Tawny crawling into his sleeping bag, sniffling softly as she recounted some nightmare she'd had, and Dean would let her snuggle into his chest. Things didn't change when they got to the age where Bobby gave them their own room. They would be asleep and Dean would hear the door creak open and Tawny would come stumbling in, bleary eyed from sleep. Usually she was awake enough to go to Sam's bed, but occasionally she was so messed up from a nightmare that she would climb into Dean's bed instead. He would let her, though, he'd let her curl up into his chest and fall back asleep, depending on Sam to wake them up in time for Tawny to get back into her own bed with John or Bobby finding out.
Dean didn't have a single moment where he fell in love with Tawny, it just sort of happened over the years. He would notice things about her, little quirks she had, songs she would hum, and the pieces fell into place on their own. The first time he realized it, though, he was twenty-two.
He was on a date with Robbi Pickner, a girl from some small town just outside Santa Fe. They were parked in an abandoned lot, tangled up in the back seat of the Impala. She was riding him enthusiastically and screaming his name, and for a second he saw Tawny the night before he left, sprawled out in bed next to him, wearing his t-shirt and he cried her name, filling the condom with creamy heat. If dropping Robbi off that night was awkward, seeing Tawny a week later was nearly unbearable. She'd practically assaulted him at the door, jumping in his arms and muttering in his ear how much she'd missed him and how glad she was that he was back, and it was hard for him to hide the fact that his jeans suddenly felt ridiculously tight. He had to duck off into the bathroom and shower just so he could rub one off like some fourteen-year-old. Every time he came after that he would see her face instead of the nameless bimbo he was fucking.
Tawny was the only one he wanted, is the only one he wants. He can't even imagine life without her, so breaking a promise is a huge deal, worse than breaking his promise to dad that he wouldn't tell Sam what dad had told him in the hospital. It was unbearable. But Dean couldn't do it and he had to tell her why, so he looked her in the face, sitting in that church, right in front of the fucking altar and told her. He was happy to use Sam's bitching and whining about how he was a borderline Bible-thumper as a segue, but he looked at Tawny the whole damn time, happy for once that she was pressed into Sam's side instead of his.
"I'll tell you who else had faith like that – Mom," Dean says, and Sam looks over. Tawny, unfortunately, keeps her eyes on a candle flickering behind the altar. "She used to tell me when she tucked me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me."
"You never told me that," Sam mutters. Dean nods, wishing Tawny would at least acknowledge he was speaking. But she just wipes her nose on the back of her hand, not even giving him a sideways glance. So he continues, hoping that at some point she'll give him the benefit of the doubt and forgive him for what he's saying.
"What's to tell? She was wrong. There was nothing protecting her. There's no higher power, there's no God. There's just chaos and violence and random, unpredictable evil that comes outta nowhere and rips you to shreds. You want me to believe in this stuff? I'm gonna need to see some hard proof. You got any?"
Tawny stands and at first Dean thinks she's going to brush it off and move on, so he stands, too, ready to kiss and make up, but apparently the universe has decided it hates him today and she brushes past him, and he sees the tears flowing freely down her face. He watches her go and is about to follow when Sam grabs the back of his jacket.
"Let her go, Dean," he says, and Dean turns around to tell him to fuck off, but he stops when he sees a look on Sam's face like he's been through this before.
"I'm not getting outta this one easy, am I?" he asks, guilt sinking like lead in his belly. Sam's look says all he needs to hear, but his stupid brother opens his mouth anyways.
"No. I think it's gonna take a little more than a beer and the 'magic fingers' to get you out of the doghouse."
Dean nods, looking back at the closed doors, suddenly wishing he wasn't so fucking selfish.
"So," Sam suddenly says, and Dean looks at him hoping he looks as miserable as he feels. "What was it you wanted to show me?"
Tawny is about ninety-nine percent sure Dean wants her to kill him when he leaves her and Sam standing on the side of the road in front of the little corner store. At 11:00 at night. And its nineteen freaking degrees out.
"What the hell is wrong with him?!" she practically yells, and Sam shrugs, either too pissed off or too shocked to speak. It's at least a mile to the church, and Tawny's jaw is twitching something awful when they finally get there. She's starting to wonder for at least the third time in the five months she and Dean have been together if he really wants to be in this relationship. Tawny leads the way around the building, quickly finding a window to the basement she can force open, and she squeezes through it, dropping to the floor. Sam slides the bag through, then follows, and they quickly make their way to the crypt.
Tawny sets the séance up the way Bobby taught her, and Sam watches closely, John's book lying open in his palm.
"Don't trust me?" she snaps, and Sam looks guilty.
"Course I trust you. Just wanna know what I'm doing," Sam says, looking down at the book. Tawny rolls her eyes and lights the candles before reciting the Latin that would draw the spirit of Father Gregory to them if he was sticking around. They're only about two thirds of the way through the séance when a voice scares Tawny enough to make her jump.
"What are you doing? What is this?"
Father Reynolds is standing in the doorway and Tawny stares up at him, falling back to rest on her heels. She and Sam look at each other desperately, then back up at the Father.
"Uh – Father, please, we can explain," Sam says, standing. Tawny does the same and falls behind Sam.
"Uh…" he says, and Tawny nudges him with her shoulder. "Actually, maybe I can't, um…"
Tawny rolls her eyes and pushes around Sam.
"This is a séance."
"A séance? Young lady, you are in a house of God."
"It's based on early Christian rites, if that helps any," Tawny offers, but the look she receives tells her it doesn't.
"Enough," Father Reynolds says, grabbing her upper arm. "You're coming with me."
"Father, please! Just wait a second!" Sam pleads, following them. Before anyone else can say a word a bright light fills the room and Tawny turns. What she sees is the most beautiful, frightening thing she's ever seen. At first it looks like an actual angel and Tawny's heart leaps. She faintly hears Father Reynolds ask if that's what it is, and she wants so badly to say yes, but she can't speak because she knows it isn't.
"No, it's not," she says quietly, her voice breaking. "It's just Father Gregory."
The light fades and, sure enough, there stands Father Gregory.
"Thomas?" Father Reynolds asks, staring in disbelief.
"I've come in answer to your prayers," he answers, then looks at Sam. "Sam…I thought I sent you on your path. You should hurry."
"Father, I'm sorry," Sam says, approaching the spirit. "But you're not an angel."
"Of course I am."
"No," Tawny says, tears in her eyes. "You're a man. You're a spirit. You don't have any divine calling to do this, God isn't telling you anything. No, what you need to do is be at rest."
"I was a man," Father Gregory argues. "But now I'm an angel. I was on the steps of the church. I felt that bullet pierce right through me. But there was no pain. And, suddenly, I could see…everything. Father Reynolds" he turns to face the Father "I saw you… praying and crying here. I came to help you."
"Help me how?" Father Reynolds asks tearfully. "Those murders – that was because of you?"
"I received the word of God. He spoke to me, told me to smite the wicked. I'm carrying out His will."
"You're driving innocent people to kill."
"Those innocent people are being offered redemption. Some people need redemption, don't they Sam?"
He looks pointedly at Sam and Tawny feels a flare of anger in her chest.
"Sam doesn't need redemption, he's done nothing wrong!" Tawny defends, stepping forward, but Sam wraps his fingers around her upper arm, pulling her back.
"How can you call this redemption?" Father Reynolds asks, and Father Gregory looks at him.
"You can't understand it now, but the rules of man and the rules of God are two very different things," he tried to explain, but Tawny's not buying any of it.
"Those people – they're locked up," Tawny says, and Father Gregory looks down at her.
"No, they're happy. They've found peace, beaten their demons. And I've given them the keys to Heaven."
"No, no," Father Reynolds says, shaking his head "This is vengeance. It's wrong. Thomas, this goes against everything you believed. You're lost, misguided."
"Father… No, I'm not misguided."
"You are not an angel, Thomas. Men cannot be angels."
"But…" he says, looking around at Sam. "But I-I don't understand."
Tawny looks at him, tears falling freely now. He looks back at Father Reynolds.
"You prayed for me to come."
"I prayed for God's help, not this. What you're doing is not God's will. 'Thou shalt not murder'. That's the word of God," Father Reynolds says, gently yet firmly. Father Gregory turns, staring at his own grave for what seems like hours, but is probably only a minute or two. He finally turns, looking at Father Reynolds.
"Let us help you," Tawny says quietly, but Father Gregory shakes his head.
"No."
"It's time to rest, Thomas. To be at peace. Please. Let me give you last rites," Father Reynolds urges. Father Gregory's face falls, so Father Reynolds wastes no time.
"O Holy hosts above, I call upon thee as a servant of Christ to sanctify our actions this day in the fulfillment of the will of God," he says, crossing himself. Father Gregory flickers like a torn film, and he looks up pleadingly. "Father Reynolds?"
"Rest."
Father Gregory kneels, and Tawny is grasping Sam's hand so tightly she's sure he has no feeling left in it.
"I call upon the Archangel Raphael, master of the air, to make open the way. Let the fire of the Holy Spirit now descend, that this being might be awakened to the world beyond."
There's a bright light that Tawny has to close her eyes to, and when she opens them again he's gone. The three of them stand in silence for a moment until Tawny can't take it anymore, and she makes her way out to the sanctuary. She kneels at the altar, sobbing, and soon feels a hand on her shoulder. Sam holds her and she looks up, seeing what she remembers of her mother's face.
"Lord," she prays, holding onto Sam. "Make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sew love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. Where there is sadness, joy. Oh, Divine Master grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, to be loved as to love. For it's in giving that we receive, and it's pardoning that we are pardoned, and it's in dying that we are born into Eternal Life. Amen."
Tawny's slipping out of her jeans when the door opens and Dean walks in. He looks at her, an expression on his face Tawny quickly places as pure emotional exhaustion.
"How was your day?" he asks, though, and his voice betrays his eyes. Tawny doesn't answer, just pulls her shirt over her head and flings it into the pile of dirty laundry she'll have to do tomorrow. She's about to grab one of Sam's shirts when Dean puts a hand on her back. When Tawny turns to look at him, his eyebrows are pushed together like they get when he's worried about her or Sammy.
"Baby, I-" he starts, but Tawny pulls away from him.
"Look, Dean, you were right, okay? It wasn't an angel. It was just Father Gregory, like you said, so can we just drop it?" she pleads, grabbing the shirt she was going for and tossing it into the pile. When she turns around Dean's right behind her. He's got his hip flask in one hand and he offers it to her. She looks at it wearily for a moment, then takes it. The cool metal against her lips contrasts the burn in her throat and she closes her eyes, letting it warm her from the inside out. When she opens her eyes again Dean's only a few inches away from her face and she gets lost in his eyes for a moment. They're stunning from this close; caramel flakes around his pupil gradually darkening into a deep, mossy green around the edges. She finally breaks down and leans into his chest, burying her face in his shirt and taking a deep breath.
"I wanted to believe so badly, Dean. I- I wanted to believe that it was all real, that I would get to see her again. This job fucking sucks and that's the only way I can get through it. I have to force myself to think it's what she wants me to do, but… I don't know," she mutters into his chest. Her tears are back and when she pulls away his shirt is wet. She puts her hand on the spot, petting at his chest through the material. He takes her hand, holding it tightly as he raises it up to his lips and presses the pad of her middle finger against his mouth. He looks like he's thinking hard for a moment and then he speaks.
"Tawny, the guy Sam was supposed to go after – he's dead."
"What? How?" Tawny asks, surprised.
"There was this –" he starts, waving his hand, but he stops, his eyes positively swimming now. "Just—Father Gregory knew this guy was bad… I don't know how but he knew and he was right. And if I hadn't seen the way this guy died, I never would have believed it. It- it was almost like…"
"Divine intervention?" Tawny asks, and Dean nods faintly.
"Tawny, I felt like it was God's will. I'm so sorry…" he says, the tears in his eyes finally spilling over onto his cheeks. Tawny raises a hand and wipes them away before leaning up to press a kiss to his mouth. He gently pushes her over to the bed, pulling her down onto it with him. They lay in silence, the only sound Tawny can hear is his heart beat as she rests her head on his chest and that's enough proof for her that there is a God. And He's watching over them right now.