Exclusive V.I.P
Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, the Winchester's become the prey. Dean has one last card up his sleeve, a safe house he's kept close to his chest for a long time. It might not be as safe as he thought.
Warnings: angst, mentions of injuries, breakup.
W/C: 3.9k
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, OFC (Izzie), Crowley, Other OC's.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Mentioned)
The steady beeping became annoying. Izzie groaned, too tired to roll over and try to find the off switch to whatever it was. Dean would do it shortly, she was sure of it.
Dean.
Her eyelids were weighted, too heavy to open and she grumbled again. Surely if Dean were nearby, he'd hear her and be at her side in an instant. She smelled the undeniable aroma of a hospital and the panic set in so hard she gasped as her eyes sprung open.
She tried to sit up. It was a mistake. White-hot pain shot through her leg and ribs simultaneously. She cried out into the empty room. The heart monitor she was attached to beeped in time with her pained rhythm. Her ribs were broken; her casted left leg was obviously broken, too.
Shifter plus hunter equaled being thrown into a concrete post, which equaled broken bones. But where was Dean? Had he taken it down? Was he okay?
Her cellphone lay on the table beside her bed. She thanked the lord it hadn't been smashed in her fall and she prayed someone had had the foresight to charge it. She'd been unconscious at least a day, that much she knew, but she needed the blanks filled in.
"Iz?" Dean answered abruptly.
"Dean," she said, "it's me."
His sigh was laden with relief. "Oh, baby, it's so good to hear your voice."
She imagined him closing his eyes to silently thank whoever was listening. "How long have I been out?"
"Three days," he told her, voice thick with exhaustion as if he hadn't slept and it was starting to catch up with him. "How you feelin'?"
"Sore," she chuckled.
He laughed lightly but his sigh stopped it in his tracks. His voice shook. "I thought I'd lost you there for a second. Your head…," Dean said, clearing his throat of whatever emotion he needed to control. "…there was so much blood."
Izzie raised her hand to her temple and hissed when her fingers connected with the stitches. Leg, ribs, head, she added up her stock of injuries. "I'm okay, babe. I'm sorry I scared you."
"Just don't do it again, okay?"
"No promises, remember?"
He huffed a laugh that time, more genuine than the last. No promises had been the only deal of their relationship. Neither of them made a promise they knew they couldn't keep.
"Where are you?"
"Iz, I'm so sorry," he paused, and it was then she heard the Impala's engine. "Dad's missing. I'm fifty miles away from Stanford. I didn't want to leave you but-"
"No, no, I get it," she cut him off. He didn't need to apologize, she understood.
"Give me a couple of days, I'll come back for you as soon as I've found him," Dean said, sounding hopeful. "And that I can promise."
"Good, 'cause you're my ride," she joked with a wide smile. She missed him already, but she knew she needed time to heal, and Dean needed to find John.
"Couple days," he repeated.
"I'll be waiting."
They signed off by saying they loved each other, and Izzie pressed the button to call for a nurse. She needed pain meds.
It was his last resort. Dean had had the card up his sleeve for years, kept it hidden from all the other players to be able to pull it out when he needed it. He was loath to use it, he had no right to interrupt her life, but he really needed help.
The number he had for her was out of service. It had been eight years, what did he expect? But old habits die hard, or perhaps she always knew he'd come knocking one day. The number attached to the ad on Craig's List - Hunting for a Used Car, call M&M Polycom Cars - the code they'd set up years ago, was active.
The first call went unanswered. Maybe that was a sign? He raked a hand down his face and looked over to Sam at the edge of the lake. The still, almost navy blue, water spread out before Sam –and the liquid in the brown bottle he clutched– were supposed to be calming his nerves. But even from his perch on Baby's hood some distance away, Dean saw the slight tremble in Sam's hand.
"Fuck," he muttered and jabbed redial.
Three rings this time and the call connected. The familiar voice answered in a breathless rush as if she'd run to the phone. "M and M Polycom Cars, we do the hunting for you."
"Izzie," he said, clearing his throat to shake the uncertainty from his tone, "it's Dean."
"Obviously," she replied emotionlessly. "You need a pick-up or…."
She trailed off and Dean wondered if it was because she'd forgotten the code or if she really didn't want to be talking to him. He didn't blame her; it wasn't easy for him either.
"I need a garage for storage." He hoped she'd remember that it meant he needed somewhere to lay low. "I'm just outside of Georgia."
Her pause was silent but heavy. He knew she was calculating the distance between her and another safe house. They both knew she was closest. Dean had been on autopilot; his only focus was to put as many miles between them and the federal agents chasing them as he could. It wasn't until he saw the mile marker that he realized he'd been heading toward the town she'd settled in many moons ago.
Finally, she spoke. "I'll text you the details."
"Thank you." His sigh was thick with relief. "Will you, um, will you be there?"
"Depends on what time you arrive," she said almost robotically. "I might be at work."
"Okay, yeah, great."
Sam's head shot around to look at him and Dean held his thumb up as confirmation. The relief was evident in the slump of Sam's shoulders and Dean was so thankful for it. "Thanks again, Iz, I owe you."
"Drive safe."
"Yeah, will-"
The line disconnected before he finished his sentence. Evidently, she was still pissed at him.
It was late when they arrived, just past two in the morning. They'd driven straight through, only stopped for gas, and the pit stop had put Sam on edge again. He was only relaxed when they were in motion, so when he finally fell asleep, Dean didn't wake him to take a turn driving. Maybe he should have because he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere or gotten the address wrong.
He checked the text again while he made Baby crawl along, so he didn't drive past the number he was looking for. This couldn't be the place. The five houses on the long street were set behind their own private walls, each one with a gated entry, and a security guard - if you could call them that - sitting in a booth holding the power to deny entry to unwanted visitors.
Though the Impala was doing less than ten miles an hour, Sam still jolted awake when Dean slammed the breaks. Sam scowled and Dean shrugged a half-assed apology with a smirk. "Sam, we're here."
"Wow," Sam said, sitting up straighter and looking out the window. "You sure you have the right place?"
"I didn't think so either, but then," Dean smacked Sam's shoulder for attention and pointed toward the brick column left of the security booth. The anti-possession symbol carved discreetly into the beige brickwork may have looked like a quirky decoration to anyone else, but they knew otherwise. The symbol was a beacon for hunters, a safe place.
The stocky guard that stepped out of the booth once Dean pulled up to the gate was not the rotund grandpa dude he expected to see. He looked like he should have been on the cover of Men's Fitness. His black t-shirt was barely holding its ground against his biceps and Dean was sure he was as tall as Sam.
Dean wound down the window and just as he opened his mouth to speak, Mr. Fitness spoke first. "You're Sam and Dean," he smiled, his teeth were as bright as the lights that illuminated the closed gate. "I'm Tyler, head of security. Izzie said to expect you, go on up. Follow the drive, the garage is on the left, can't miss it. Nathan will meet you there."
Dean mumbled a thank you and watched while he turned his back to push the button for the gate to open. Tyler, Nathan, how many men were here? What was this place? The last time he'd spoken to Izzie, seven, or maybe eight years ago, she was living in an apartment above a backstreet bar.
"Does she work here?" Sam asked, taking in the tree-lined driveway that seemed endless.
"Maybe, she stole it," Dean suggested, awestruck as the house came into view.
"How do you steal a house, Dean?"
He barely registered the snarky comment, too busy casing the place. It was huge, with all beige brick like the perimeter walls, and four decorative columns held up a concrete canopy to walk under to the front door. He was contemplating the odds of the place having a swimming pool when lights in his rearview, approaching at speed, caught his attention. He sped up to get out of the way.
The dark blue Audi R8 pulled to a stop beside him in the garage, and Dean glanced over to see Izzie switching off her engine. By the time he'd gathered the courage to face her, Sam had already stepped out and enveloped her in a hug.
"Wow, Sam, do you ever stop growing?" she asked.
Dean stepped around the Impala. His hands instinctively tucked into the pockets of his jeans, effectively closing himself off before even giving her a chance to decide if she'd want to embrace him or not.
Izzie pulled back from Sam and immediately her eyes landed on Dean. His eyes drank her in, head to toe. He couldn't keep his eyebrows from raising in somewhat shocked appreciation or wetting his lips. She looked amazing, a pinstripe pantsuit with black heels that made her look as if she'd just stepped out of some corporate office. The deeper tan on her face and lighter hair made her brown eyes lighter. Perhaps the lightness was the lack of sadness behind them.
"Hey, Iz," he said, finally meeting her eyes.
Her jaw ticked. "Dean." She nodded ever so slightly then turned to Sam. "So, who should we be on the lookout for?" she asked. "Monsters or naive humans on a power trip?"
"FBI," Sam answered.
Izzie looked over Dean's shoulder and nodded. "Nathan, let everyone know, please."
Dean turned in time to see the back of Nathan as he disappeared out of the garage. He was another one who could be on the cover of a magazine. He was starting to see a pattern in the company Izzie kept and he wasn't sure he liked it.
"Come on, I'll give you the tour," she said, ushering them to follow her.
Dean wandered the mansion. He was checking the place out but also searching for Izzie. Breakfast –well, brunch by the time they woke up— had been a gourmet affair cooked by a personal chef to even Sam's health-nut specifications. Afterwards, Sam had decided to take advantage of all of the mansion's facilities, including the fitness center, complete with at least a dozen machines designed to sculpt different body parts as painfully as possible. Dean took one look and decided to leave Sam to it. Talking to Izzie would be painful enough.
Nathan, who seemed to be around every corner, had told Dean he was free to go wherever, and do as he pleased, as long as he stayed within the grounds. He hadn't wanted to ask where Izzie was, or where her room was, as she'd purposely not pointed it out during her given tour. So, he wandered aimlessly, smiling politely at any members of staff he passed. He hoped that Izzie's assurance of her staff's discretion was true and that one of them didn't call the authorities the second he was out of sight.
Two laps of the three floors later, he got bored of searching. Izzie was either nowhere to be found or was actively avoiding him; it wouldn't be hard to do, the house was huge. He decided to sit by the pool; the waterfall feature was calming and the small mist it created was refreshing in the stifling Georgia heat. He planned to sit for a while and decide on his next move.
He'd asked Nathan for some board shorts and like magic, a brand-new pair, with the tags still on, had been delivered to his room within half an hour. He'd swum a couple of lengths then sat on the edge beside the waterfall, wondering what else he could ask for.
Izzie exited the house across the pool, towel slung over her arm, sunglasses pushing her hair back, and a book in hand. Dean stared, couldn't help himself, wouldn't have looked away if someone asked him to. She was clad in a white bikini, which looked amazing against her tanned skin, but he stared at the scars that adorned her body.
Her left shin had a long scar running from her knee down to her ankle, a result of the surgery she'd had to fix it. Knife wounds, bullet holes, scratches, teeth marks, every single scar reminded him of a time they'd been together. He'd been with her when she'd earned each one of them. There were none he didn't recognize because she'd gotten out of the life after he abandoned her.
He didn't miss the pause in her stride when she spotted him. She recovered quickly, threw the towel, book, and sunglasses onto a sun lounger, and dived into the water. He watched her distorted figure until she broke the surface and swam toward him.
"Haven't seen you all day," he said, while she bobbed in the water not far from him. "Been looking for you."
"You need something?" she asked, slight worry creasing her brow. "Nathan not been around?"
Dean was quick to reassure her and didn't want to get Nathan into trouble when he'd been doing a perfectly good job. "No, no. I just wanted to say thanks, again. Catch up with you."
"You already thanked me," she told him. "And catching up? Okay, um, let's see. I keep weird hours 'cause I own and run a nightclub, so I work most nights. The club has been open for about six years. It's very exclusive. There, all caught up."
He chose to ignore the snarky tone, he deserved it, and he wasn't about to start a fight with her. "You've made a life, a good one by the looks of things."
She sneered, and he knew before she spoke the words wouldn't be kind. "Figured I'd make use of my time while I waited for my ride."
Here we go. He thought, taking a deep breath to prepare for the pending argument.
But before he could retaliate, she scoffed and shook her head. He knew the gesture well; she was annoyed at herself for letting her mouth run. "I thought I was over it-"
"Apparently not," he jested, unable to stop his own mouth from running. She'd always pushed his buttons, and once upon a time, he'd enjoyed pushing hers. They may have been older, lived separate lives for a long time, but evidently that hadn't changed.
"-I thought I could do this but then I saw you and–"
"Everything came rushing back like a fucking tidal wave of fucked up emotions?"
She stared at him with wide-eyed shock evident on her face. "Yeah."
Dean held her eyes for a silent, pregnant minute. There had been times when this, a chance to explain himself, had been all he wanted. He'd screwed his way across the country, never felt guilty for any of them that he left behind. He'd had moments of guilt for leaving Lisa and Ben, but he knew in his heart that he had done right by them. He couldn't make the same claim when it came to Izzie.
She'd been a part of his life since he was a kid. Her dad, Neil, often dumped her on Dean so he and John could hunt. Only a year his junior, it bugged the shit out of her, and Dean never admitted it, but she had always been more mature than him. Cut to a few years later and inevitably, they'd fallen into bed together. He'd been her first everything. She'd given her virginity to him and somewhere along the line, she'd stolen his heart. He'd deny ever giving it willingly because that had never been the plan. But the realization had crept up on him one day and he'd gone with it. Until he couldn't anymore.
He'd abandoned her, without much of an explanation except, 'I need to find my dad.' There was more to it than that, though he'd never told her. He'd never even really tried. But now he had the opportunity to explain himself, he couldn't find the words.
"This was a mistake," Izzie declared and swam away to the other end of the pool.
Dean called after her, but she ignored him. He pulled his legs out of the water and ran to her, catching up as she reached her sun lounger and began dabbing at her neck with the towel.
"Iz, please," he begged, reaching a hand out to place on her elbow. She snatched it out of his grasp, glaring angrily at him. He took a step back, hands held up, surrendering. "I just wanna talk. This isn't easy for me," he said.
"So, talk," she snapped.
He gulped a lungful of air, stared into her expectant eyes, and… nothing. He sighed, shaking his head. Why couldn't he find the words? Perhaps it was that 'sorry' didn't seem adequate.
She stepped around him toward the house, but he blocked her path. "Move."
"Just give me a minute, please."
"You've had eight years' worth of minutes, Dean!" she yelled, attempting to dodge around him again.
He countered her move and stood firm. "I know! I know that and I've thought about this moment a million times but now it all just feels…."
"Boss," Nathan called. Though he'd spoken softly Dean heard the warning in the simply uttered word. "Everything okay?"
"Peachy," Izzie said and used the distraction to pass Dean.
He turned to watch her walk away and held Nathan's scowling expression until the other man broke it and followed his boss into the house.
It was her night off. She should have been home, in sweatpants with a gallon of ice cream and whatever the latest movie Netflix had to offer. Instead, she'd gone to work, only to avoid Dean.
The privacy window in her office offered her a complete view of the club and she watched Sam and Dean at the bar.
Dean fucking Winchester. As if his call hadn't thrown her off her game enough, he'd shown up aged like fine wine. New wrinkles and worry lines peppered with impossibly more freckles. She'd once known every one of them, had traced them with her fingers and made patterns in them while she watched him sleep. But now she wanted to know the story behind each crease in his skin.
"Did you hear me, pet?" Crowley said, "or are the sparkly green eyes too distracting for you?"
"I heard you," she groaned, reluctantly pulling her gaze from said green sparkle. "Just give it a few days. It'll be suspicious if I suddenly throw them out."
"The Winchesters are bad for business, darling," he stated the obvious, hands tucked into the pocket of his pants.
"Suspicious Winchesters would be worse for business," she countered.
"We agree any type of Winchester puts this whole operation in jeopardy," Crowley said. "Details are neither here nor there. They need to leave, sharpish."
"Fuck," she said, searching the crowd again. "Where'd they go?"
Crowley crossed to the window to assist her search. "You better hope they don't stumble upon the VIP rooms."
She frantically searched, thankful she couldn't see Nathan, either. She hoped he was giving the boys a tour and steering them clear of the more questionable areas of the club.
A hard rap on her door stopped their search and Crowley blinked out of the room. "Yeah?" she called out.
Dean strode in, two bottles of beer in hand, and offered one to her. "Wow," he said, walking to the window. "This place is amazing."
Evidently, the universe wasn't done opening old wounds. When he turned to her again, his proud smile took her breath. She took a long pull on the beer to give her mind something else to focus on and walked to sit at her desk.
Dean followed, standing at the end of the large mahogany table, an expectant look gazing down at her. "You busy?"
"Depends on what you need?"
"To talk."
"I'm all talked out, Dean."
"Well, just listen, then. Let me apologize."
He sounded desperate, but frankly, she didn't want to hear it. She'd spent years telling herself she was past it; that she no longer cared why the green-eyed man had left her. Nevertheless, she was curious as to what bullshit he'd try and spin. Dean Winchester was a charmer. Getting people to sympathize with him was a part of his DNA. But she didn't want to sympathize; she wanted to remain angry. Holding on to her ire for eight years had been exhausting, but it lessened the guilt she felt for the path she had taken since his departure.
She was quiet for too long and Dean seemed to take that as permission to continue.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, and she saw the weakness in his imploring expression. But there was something more there, too: relief of a burden being lifted. "I abandoned you. I should have called. I owed you that much. But it was just one thing after another: looking for my dad, helping Sam, and then apocalypse after apocalypse. I told myself I just lost track of time, but that's a lie. I was afraid. I knew if I heard your voice or saw you, I'd come running back."
"That's all great, Dean, but all I hear are excuses. You still haven't given me a reason as to why I couldn't help you! We spent years together, fighting side by side, but your dad goes AWOL and then Sam's back and suddenly that made me, what, extra baggage?"
"It wasn't safe for me to come back for you," he sighed, eyes dropping to look at his feet.
"We're hunters! Safe was never a possibility."
He shrugged. "I guess, but after everything that happened, it was exponentially less safe for you to be around me."
"That wasn't your decision to make."
"Yes, it was," he disagreed sternly. "I saw how devastated Sam was over Jess and I was selfish. I couldn't do that. I wouldn't have survived it. So, I bailed. But knowing you were still out there, alive and happy, helped me go on."
"Well, I guess you got your wish." She smiled and she knew it looked as insincere as it felt. "Cause here I am, alive and happy."
"Iz, I never stopped–"
Sam burst through the office door, face flushed as if he'd been running, a slither of panic in his eyes.
Dean recognized the expression and was walking toward him in a split second, concern lacing his tone. "Sam, what's wrong?"
Eyes trained on Izzie, Sam asked, "Do you know there are vampires feeding on your customers in the basement?"
A/N: this may continue :-).