Brianna POV

"You know this business donates to anti-LGBT causes", I fuss as he pulls into the lot of a Chick Fil-A in Tennessee for lunch.

"I don't like that about them", he says and actually surprises me, "But they make a damn good chicken sandwich."

"Why don't you go through the drive-thru, and we can keep going?", I ask.

"Uh, nobody eats in Baby. Ever."

That's his final word on the matter and we're sitting at a tiny table inside.

"Who gets a salad here?", he asks, watching me eat.

"Someone who is hungry and not a regular fast food indulger", I answer, looking over his tray. He has two fried chicken sandwiches, waffle fries, an enormous sugary sweet tea, and a brownie.

"You and my brother", he sighs, "I guess you think I'm disgusting."

He has no idea just how 'not-disgusting' I find him. I've always preferred men with meat on their bones, and he's Grade-A Prime.

"Far from it, Mr. Winchester", I say, and he looks up quickly. "I ate that way when I was younger and paid for it. Your eating habits are no business of mine. I just want to get there."

"Back to a haunted house you ran away from? Why?", he asks.

"I want my home back. I've never had anything that was just mine", I comment.

He's staring. "You know you're a bit aggressive and frigid."

"You're a bit aggressive and hot", I comment back, blushing when I realize I just called him hot.

I sigh. "I think we got off on the wrong foot, Mr.…."

"Dean", he says.

"Dean. I'm Brianna. And I'm grateful for your help", I say.

"Don't be too grateful yet. I haven't done anything. I don't know what we're dealing with until we get there", he answers, demolishing one sandwich in a single bite.

"Tell me about Sam", I say just to see him smile.

"He's been like my other half for years", he says, "After our father died, I was faced with hunting alone. It really was unfair of me, but I tracked him down at Stanford and asked for his help finding dad. When the demon who killed our mother also killed his fiancé, he gave up school to hunt with me. I still feel guilty about it."

"You succeeded though. In everything I've read about you."

"'Success' is a flexible concept when it comes to hunting. These things are either dead or were never really alive. 'Killing' them isn't always truly possible. He's in hell somewhere, or maybe in Nothing where dead angels and demons go. But he's immortal, so he's never really truly dead the way humans are", he finishes.

I chuckle harshly. "Not really making me feel better about all this."

"They'll be gone as far you're concerned", he answers with wink and takes another huge bite.

Mayo drips out of the sandwich and down his chin. "I gotcha", I laugh, reaching over with a napkin and cleaning him up. It takes me a full 20 seconds to think about just how inappropriate that was.

His eyes are like saucers.

"I'm sorry. Wow. I'm…"

"You got kids?" he asks with his mouth full.

"Actually no. I have no excuse. It just looked like it was going to drip on your shirt…"

"This?", asks, mouth still full, holding onto the collar of his flannel shirt. "Eh, needs to be washed anyway."

"Well along with ghosts and demons, I also have a washer and dryer at my place, so when we get there, we can get you out of those clothes…."

His eyes get even bigger.

"Wow…I…just can't stop…I'm going to keep my mouth shut for a while", I offer, and I know I must be beet red.

He smiles, truly smiles and it lights up the room. The lines around his eyes make him look distinguished instead of exhausted when he's smiling. "I make a lot of people uncomfortable, Miss…Brianna. Don't worry about it."

I'm glad he doesn't know it's for the opposite reason he thinks.

"Right. So, first thing we call up that enchantment demon", I say, desperately trying to change the subject.

"I'll do anything to see Sammy again. Anything except break my wish, his happiness is still the all-important thing. You know…he has three kids, they all go hiking in Utah every summer. It's just so…Sammy." He sounds wistful. And heartbroken. "Who he would have been if I'd never knocked on that door 20 years ago. He's rich and successful and happy, got a wife he adores and kids to love. I took his life from him. But I also gave it back to him", he says, looking so damn sad. "I'd never risk that just to be back in his life again. I hope I can do both."

"And what about you? Sam has a life after hunting. What about yours?", I ask.

"There is no life 'after hunting' for me. I won't stop until I'm dead. That last case was supposed to kill me. I had a damn bolt two inches wide through my back, my lungs, and my heart…that hurt more than…but then that demon came along and found a way to take both of us off the board without killing either of us. I was dying…I was desperate. To help my brother survive without me in any way I could so I wished for a long healthy life for him. And then I didn't die. I was back in Lawrence, couldn't remember a thing, it took months. And then I found Sam in California. I knocked on his door and he had no idea who I was…" He's choking back a tear.

"I'm so sorry. I know the two of you were very close. No one ever loved anyone like you love your brother…"

"Well now you're just makin it weird", he says, wiping his cheek. We both chuckle.

"What about…Castiel? Have you been able to see him?" His eyes get wide, then he gathers his trash together.

"I don't want to talk about it. How do you even know about him?"

"Dean, I…"

"Look, lady, we had a deal. You help me get my brother back and you pay me…a lot…now let's get going", he barks, back to his angry, bitter persona.

The demons—the ones in my house anyway—can't stop being amused that Castiel is in Nothing, that he sacrificed himself to save a man he was madly in love with, a man who couldn't love him the same way. Then Dean died a few days later anyway. It was like an O'Henry novel. But that enchantment demon changed everything by bringing Dean back. I know the life story of the Winchester brothers whether Dean likes it or not, but maybe I should keep the extent of my knowledge to myself.

We ride in silence to the Kentucky border. The bench seating in the Impala isn't the most comfortable thing in the world; I'm used to ergonomic seats in a 2019 car. But it does allow for movement. I can slide all the way away from him and watch the scenery go by.

"I'm sorry", he finally says a couple hundred miles later. "He…sacrificed himself for me because he was in love with me. I failed him. I loved him like a brother; he was my best friend. But it wasn't enough. He let himself be killed to save me. It's…I can't think about it. I wish we could trade places. I wasn't worth saving. I failed him. I failed mom and dad. I failed Sam."

"Your failed no one!", I insist. "How many times can you die, Dean?"

"I don't know, but I may hit some kind of record…."

"Yes, exactly. You're always giving and sacrificing for other people- the ultimate sacrifice occasionally. What do you consider taking that bolt in the back to save Sam? You've done enough. It's time to think of yourself. And when you get Sam back, you can build a life that has him in it", I insist.

He grins and stares at me. "Thank you for my marching orders."

"Sorry, I don't intend to tell you what to do. It's not my business really", I say.

"True, none of this is your business, but you seem to know all about mine. I don't understand it…"

"Or trust me…"

"I discovered trust is almost always a bad idea, lady. Don't take it personally", he adds.

"Maybe if you get to know me", I add.

"Why would I do that? Why do you care if I trust you or not?", he asks, harshly, and I realize I'm being inappropriate. Again. I keep letting my attraction to him override my common sense. He's not interested. In fact, he probably hates me for knowing too much.

"No reason. Sorry", I answer. He stares harder.

"Eyes on the road", I say and we drive on in silence.

We arrive at my house (I can't think of it as a home right now) late at night. "I'm sorry we arrived at this time. You drive fast", I comment. "Just drop me off at my property. I'm happy to pay for a motel for you for the night."

"You don't want me in the same house with you at night? Trust me, lady, I ain't interested", he insists and I feel like I've been stabbed.

"I…don't want you to have to be in that house with all that activity in the dark", I correct, "I 'ain't' interested either."

"I would NEVER think you were. If you think I'm scared of the supernatural, I wonder why you came for my help at all", he says. "I don't want you in that house alone. Surely you have more than one bedroom. If not, the sofa's fine."

"Yes", I answer softly. I drive on and pull into the driveway.

"Oh buddy, didn't tell me it was a mansion", he says.

"I don't consider it that. This was a very upper class area in the Victorian and Edwardian eras and all these over-the-top houses were built. With time, the neighborhood collapsed, no could afford to keep these houses up, and through much of the 20th century, people moved to the suburbs and this was all crime, drugs, violence, and most of these houses were filled the homeless, or meth labs, rat infested…but they're coming back. As you can see, they're coming back. People are refurbishing them to look like they did in their heyday. I fell in love with this house the moment I saw it. It deserves a second chance", I tell him.

We get out and carry our bags to the front door. When we get there, he picks up my bags as well, surprising me. I get out my keys, open the door, and let us in. "And you're a professor?", he asks.

"Yes."

"Nice work if you can get it", he comments.

I chuckle harshly. "Wellll, I'll be paying this off for the rest of my life."

"No hubby help?", he asks. "No guy with glasses and patches on his corduroy blazer at the school caught your eye to help you pay for it?", he teases.

"No."

"Unless you're…maybe a girl with glasses and practical pumps…"

I look over at him to see he's teasing me. "No, Mr. Winchester."

He chuckles. "Well, so far, I see nothing", he comments. "Where are all these ghosts?"

"They're not like your dates, Mr. Winchester, they don't perform on command", I hiss.

"Woahhhh! Okay, okay. I'll remember that. Then show me where I'm going to sleep", he says.

A beautiful large winding staircase is the focus of the main room. "Follow me", I direct. He follows me up the stairs, and I take my bag from him.

I show him down the hall, and push open a heavy creaking cherry wood door to reveal a bedroom. A big, canopied bed rests against a wall covered in thick, floral wallpaper, nightstand next to it with a lamp and carafe of water. Thick, brocade drapes are open. It starts to rain hard. "Great", I mumble, walk over and pull them closed.

"I'm sorry", I add, "I know it's miserable in here. Radiator heating. I'll get the thermostat up and light you a fire."

"I can light my own fires", he comments. "And this is heaven compared to some of the places I've been."

He picks up twigs mixed in with the wood next to the big brick fireplace, then adds twisted pieces of newspaper. A match lights up with a loud pop and he drops it on the pile. "Where's the flue?"

I point it out and he opens it wide. "Want help with your own?", he asks.

I just nod and he follows me into my bedroom. It's the largest bedroom in the house and I've spent more time on it than the guest bedrooms. The bed is covered with white lace and the canopy on the French country bed matches and hangs to the floor. There's a velvet sofa and small table covered in papers near the fireplace. It's the most lived-in room on this floor.

"Wow, nice", he comments.

"I can't thank you enough."

"For building you a fire?", he asks, then chuckles.

"For coming here. Listen, if your fire blows out in the night, or you hear talking, or you're touched or something, first of all, I'm sorry. Second, I don't think you're in any danger. Just once…"

"Once what?", he asks.

"I was pushed down the stairs." He turns around to look at me, his mouth hanging open.

"They pushed you down the fucking stairs? Why are you still here? They could kill you", he insists. "I think that motel might be a good idea. I may stay here just to see how things develop."

"I'm not leaving my home", I answer.

"Why not?"

"Because fuck them, that's why", I insist. He breaks out into a wide grin.

"You surprise me sometimes, Teach", he says. "That should be good until morning."

"It's late, you probably want to sleep, but if you're hungry, my refrigerator is stocked", I tell him.

"The last thing I had was lunch. Of course I'm hungry", he says. Actually the last thing he had was a big bag of Cheetos and some gummy bears when we stopped for gas in Louisville.

We walk back down the staircase and behind it to the other rooms on the first floor. I lead him into the kitchen, the only fully modernized room in the house. A failing antique refrigerator didn't sound like fun.

"Wow", he says again. "Now this is a kitchen." I go into the frig and get sandwich fixings.

"Want a salad too?", I ask.

"Ugh", he answers and I laugh. I dig through the cabinets.

"Ah hah!" I grab a bag of chips and toss it to him.

"That's more like it", he says, diving into the bag while I make him a sandwich with turkey, ham, cold bacon, tomato, cheese, and of course mayo, on thick French bread.

I put it in front of him and his eyes go wide. "Mmmmm", he moans when he bites down. "Thank you. This is good."

From my spot behind his chair, he can't see me watching him. The desire to wrap my arms around him is insatiable. To hug him, hold him, pat his belly, kiss his neck and cheek, take his hand and lead him to bed…ouch. My body is aching and alive with the very thought. I cross my legs.

I make myself the same and sit down. I find myself staring instead of eating.

"Sorry, am I making a mess again?", he asks.

"Of course not", I answer.

"The way you look at me sometimes…." He stops.

"Why are you certain I would quote "never" be interested? I'm curious", I comment. Asking for more pain, real smart, Brianna. "Because I'm not hot enough for the great Dean Winchester?"

For a moment, he looks like a dog, cocking his head to the side in confusion. "Ummm, because you're rich. And smart. And beautiful. And I'm poor and sad and broken…and the things I've done… why are you asking?"

That shocks me. "I'm far from rich, and sometimes I feel like an idiot. But….no, I mean, you're a guy, the guy, you think you're the world's gift to women, that's part of who you are…"

He chuckles. "Twenty years ago, maybe you'd be right. But that was all a cover. I can get anyone I want, have her, dump her…aren't I cool? But it was all to avoid her dumping me when she learned who I really was. Fake ego doesn't hold up too well in your forties. Especially when your lifelong eating habits that never showed finally catch up with you. Not to mention it's finally struck me what I lost not finishing high school to travel with my dad. I have a GED. Now you know." He takes another bite.

"We're about the same age", I tell him.

"Are you saying…if you want to get busy, just say so", he says, biting down again.

"'Get busy', that's lovely", I answer.

"Yeah that's what I thought. What is all this about?", he asks. "Or are you possessed right now?"

I'm wasting my time. "Take your time. I'll be back", I say, moving to leave the kitchen.

"Hey, I don't mean to drive you out of your own house. This is your kitchen. Sorry, sometimes my mouth runs away from me. I know you're not possessed. I can leave, you stay", he says.

"No, stay, Dean." Those words sound too right.

"I mean, you were pretty clear what you thought of me when we met", he says. I know I have to be bright red. He's right. I was dismissive of him and judgmental.

"Self-protection", I answer, "Sorry about that. Contempt is my armor. It goes up around men I don't know."

He stares, not knowing what to do with the honesty. "Ah. I figured you didn't like what you saw. I also kind of threatened you with a knife…"

"There's that", I say, smiling.

"I can't go straight to bed on that sandwich, but you're welcome to go on up", I say.

"Me neither", he admits. "I need the antacids these days. I remember when I would hit Taco Bell, chase it with half a bottle of Jack, and go straight to sleep."

"Yeah, me too", I answer. "My roommate, JoAnne, and I used to do that in undergrad. I can't even imagine it now. Oh, I'll take your plate."

I reach out to grab it and brush his hand with mine. I feel an electric jolt and we both jump. I want to lace my fingers through his thick ones. Squeeze that hand and tell him everything will be all right. I don't give two shits about his GED and I like the effects of a lifetime of junk food. He's a man. He's real and he's honest and he's hardworking, and he's here to solve my problem. I feel so much safer just having him the house. And goddamn if he isn't the most handsome man I've ever seen in my life. But I can't.

I look down at the table and snatch the plate out of his hand. "Maybe I'm more tired than I thought", he says, clearly disturbed by the jolt of chemistry.

We both walk back upstairs. "Thank you again, see you in the morning", I say. He nods and leaves me at my door, continuing on to his own.

"I thought I told you to leave", I hear softly and gasp awake. I don't know how long I was asleep. I'm alone.

"Get out", is whispered in my ear and I see a hand reach for me.

I didn't know I screamed until moments later when my throat hurts and Dean appears in my doorway, fully dressed.

"What happened?", he shouts.

"Someone whispering in my ear", I answer.

"I don't see anybody…"

There's an enormous portrait of the first woman who lived in the house above my bed. She's gorgeous, dark-haired, and has a look on her face that suggests she knows a secret or two. She steps out of the painting and into the room in a Victorian dress, complete with bustle and leg-o-mutton sleeves.

"Dean Winchester", she whispers. "The last one who loved you died. This one can too. You're not welcome here… hunter." She says the word as if it were dirty. "Get out of my house."

"You've been dead a long time, bitch, it's not your house anymore", he answers. Enraged, she flies at him. He picks up his shotgun and I scream as he shoots her twice with salt. She bellows and disappears into a fog.

I'm just standing there, gasping, my hand pressed to my chest.

"Are you okay?", he asks, hair a mess, button open on his jeans. Embarrassed, he turns around and closes it.

"Yes. I'm the homeowner. This happens a lot, I should be the one comforting you", I comment.

"I'm used to this", he says, staring at the ground. Being attacked by ghosts? Being embarrassed? Or both?

He's furious and reloads salt pellets in his gun. I hear him mumbling obscenities under his breath.

"Dean…"

"Ghosts don't say things for no reason. 'The last one who loved you died.' She knows about Cas. If she was responsible…burning in hell sounds too good for this bitch. 'The next one…'"

"She must mean Sam", I offer.

"She's not gonna touch Sam. But I don't think that's the kind of love she meant, she…fuck. Well I'm up now, coffee?", he asks and marches out.

Love him? I don't even know him. But if she can see the past, can she also see the future?