Dean Winchester POV

Cabin on stilts in the bayou

A meeting she'd said. A meeting. Some woman wanted a meeting with me.

I close my eyes and listen to crickets singing, the bright green grasshoppers leaping, and the ocean perch, which have been known to swim into Lake Pontchartrain, jumping clean out of the water to catch them, followed by a hollow splash as the fish hits the water again.

I'm sitting in an old rocking chair in jeans, bare feet, and a flannel shirt that was my dad's. I wasn't been to the laundromat in a bit; It could walk around by itself by now. But there's no reason she shouldn't see me as I am, not as I rarely am. My chair is intentionally positioned in a dark spot in front of a large window. The sun coming in is brilliant, but I'm hidden completely in shadow. I learned long ago to never lose the element of surprise.

I hear her shoes—high heels, Jesus Christ—clomping up the rickety stairs to my cabin over the water in the Louisiana Bayou. She knocks. The door isn't locked. That old broken door isn't the deterrent to breaking in. The homeowner is.

"Dean Winchester?", she calls out, "This is Brianna Chamberlain. Hello? We have an appointment today at 4 pm. Mr. Winchester?"

"Come in", I call out, gruffer than usual. She can't see me, my face, anything, just a dark silhouette in a chair. Game over before it begins.

She gasps as she walks in the door, shocked to find a man living so simply. I have a rocking chair and an old dog. I have a stove for cooking and one for heat, though it's not needed often in these parts. I have food I buy from the nearest grocery store and a rod and reel to take advantage of the ocean perch before they realize this water is too warm and isn't salty enough for them. I have a twin bed and a few blankets. And Baby out on the grass, far enough away from the water's edge to not have to worry about floods. And not much else.

"Mr. Winchester…I…we have an appointment. I'm looking for your help…"

"What the hell do you need my help for?", I groan. "I'm just a broken down old man."

"You can't be more than 46, Mr. Winchester", she answers, a smirk in her voice, "My grandfather didn't consider himself a broken down old man at 80…"

"It's not the years, doll, it's the mileage", I say, still hidden from view. Silence. "Why did you come here?"

"I finished my Ph.D in history and got a teaching job in the city where I attended school…."

"Good for you."

"Sorry. I'll try to make my story shorter. I purchased a very old home for myself near the school. Beautiful, but quite a bit work. When I started the work, that's when the problems began. I live alone except…I don't", I say.

"Ex boyfriend pestering you. You know how rare real ghosts are?", I ask.

"There are spirits in my home, Mr. Winchester, many of them. I didn't believe in this sort of thing you understand…"

"You don't believe in ghosts and you flew a thousand miles to talk to a ghost hunter?", I laugh. "You had three minutes to interest me in this case, and you've already spent two. Get back on your plane and fly back to…Michigan? Kentucky? Wherever", I say, low and grumbly with irritation.

"I said I didn't believe, not "I don't." And I didn't fly, Mr. Winchester, I drove. You don't like flying. And I intend to take you with me", she says.

"Do you now?", I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Is that a proposition?"

She looks over the silhouette in the chair. "Yeah I don't get too many of those anymore", I say, patting my belly. I got fat out here the last six months by myself. What else was there to do? And I haven't shaved in nearly a month.

"It's an offer of employment", she says spiritlessly.

"How do you know I don't like to fly?", I ask.

"I know quite a bit about you and your brother, Mr. Winchester", she answers.

"Then you know I'm retired. And I don't like visitors."

"I know how your last case ended. I know the angels told you that you would die, but circumstances changed that. I know you and your brother Sam were offered one wish each by an enchantment demon, but it had a catch. I know Sam wished for Jess to be alive again. They're married and living in San Francisco where he's a big shot lawyer. And I know you wished for Sam to live a long, happy, healthy life, and the price of your wishes was losing each other forever", she says, laying it all bare. "A lifetime of his happiness in exchange for him thinking you're dead, when you're really only across the country, wishing you could see him. I imagine you desperately miss your brother."

I chuckle harshly. "I always knew my only happiness would come from making sure Sammy got his. You're right, I sacrificed being part of his life for his happiness. The "catch" was that I'd lose what I loved most in exchange for the wish. I'd still have done it, but I didn't know it was the price til after the spell was cast. My brother doesn't even know I exist. Now…", I start, rising in the chair, the outline of a Bowie knife on my hip. I touch it and pop open the snap on the holster. "Wanna tell me how the hell you knew all that?" Who is this chick, a witch? A demon?

"You remember where it happened? An old, but beautiful French-inspired chateau in the heart of Clifton? Destroyed by graffiti and neglect, but redeemable if the past means enough to you. You remember where it happened, Mr. Winchester? Because that's the house I bought", she says.

"Fuckkkkkk." My head falls into my hands.

"It seems the dead there are no fans of the Winchester boys. They told me the story. I'm offering you two prices. Charge me whatever you like, I'll find a way to pay it. But the second payment is altering your deal with the enchantment demon. We'll find a way to do it. You'll see your brother again. Are you in, Mr. Winchester?", she asks. She knew this was the one thing I wouldn't be able to resist. She steps into the light.

Dammit to hell and back again. I'm supposed to be in charge here. I'm supposed to have intimidated her by now, but that's not the way this is working out. I'm supposed to shock her when I step into the light, enormous knife glinting in the sun, but I can finally see her clearly for the first time. Tall. Luscious curves. Light red hair bounces down her back in thick curls nearly to her bottom. Light brownish hazel eyes, nearly the same color as her golden strawberry hair, glint mysteriously in the light. Carved features. If I meant to employ the element of surprise, it's gone forever. She's beautiful. And it's written all over my face. Yeah. Game over, all right.

She smirks and I want to smack her face off.

"May I take that as a yes, Mr. Winchester?"

"Yes, lady, now go get your shit out of your car while I get a bag ready. There's no way I'm all going all the way to Ohio with you in the driver's seat of that piece of plastic out there."

Brianna POV

This asshole's reputation proceeds him. I was warned. He's an egotistical, uneducated, know-it-all misogynist who can't get along with anyone—man, woman, or child—for very long. Even the brother he reportedly adores. The brother who is the only person he's ever truly loved.

I saw a picture of him in the newspaper the last time he and his brother came to southern Ohio. Extremely handsome, fit, short, big eyes though I couldn't tell the color, hair and skin a bit lighter than his brother's in the black and white photo.

Now I'm standing out on the lawn in the bright sun, shielding my eyes, luggage at my feet. I see him come out and start down the ladder. "Aren't you going to lock the door, Mr. Winchester?", I ask.

"Who's gonna steal from me?", he asks, tossing his sawed off shot gun into the air, then catching it again. It may be more accurate to say he has nothing worth stealing.

He comes down the ladder slowly and stands beside me. "Ready to go?"

Hmmm. This is the same human being who was in that picture, but not the same person. His big eyes, a lovely mossy green, seem exhausted. He crinkles his face in the sun and I see his crow's feet have crow's feet. I've never seen such deep wrinkles around the eyes of anyone his age. Those eyes are wistful, beautiful, but sad. They've seen things. And they seem wise.

His body isn't what I expected either. He was fit in the picture, where this man is trying to hide a round belly beneath a strategically layered flannel over a tshirt, and there's no hiding that he bounces with every step. I wouldn't call him fat, but pleasantly plump would be appropriate.

He's also favoring his left hip. And he's not short. I presumed since he looked 5-6 inches shorter than his brother in the picture, that he was, but Dean is about 6 feet tall. The brother must be enormous.

I came prepared for a fight, but all of a sudden, he doesn't seem to have any fight left in him. A flash of him smiling, warm and happy, with a piece of pie in front of him, planted into front of a roaring fire, jumps through my mind and is gone as quickly as it came.

"Still interested, Miss….?"

"Chamberlain", I answer. "Yes. I'm definitely interested."