"I will stab you in the face," I grumbled, feeling a vibration run up my leg from the bottom of my foot. It stopped as I lazily rolled my head from where it had been resting on Dean's shoulder. I blinked, trying to clear the blood from my eye, oozing from a gash on my forehead. He sat to my left, a complex look of rage and concern written across his face. And standing at my feet, still dressed in his stolen clothes, was the hotel manager.
"Shapeshifter?" I questioned Dean. He only nodded. Of course, it was. The bastards were tricky to catch when they decided to fly under the radar. They hadn't even made our list of top 5 monsters for this specific hunt. It would be another lesson learned if we managed to walk out the other side alive.
"No questions for me?" Luke asked, a hint of dramatic air as he held both arms out.
We rolled our eyes hard enough to see the back of our skulls. "You act like this is the first time we've been kidnapped," Dean quipped, the answer seeming to startle the shifter.
"Just skip to the monologuing," I insisted. Adjusting my shoulder to block his view, I searched for Dean's tied hands in the dirt.
Luke pouted for a moment, displeased at this turn of events. "Salty hunters," he spit out, like it was an insult, "you take the fun out of everything." Dean snatched at my hand as our fingertips brushed. I pinched him lightly, escaping his grasp. He had a better chance of fighting than me, the edges of my vision still blurry.
"Says the psycho killer," Dean pestered. We nodded our heads together in fake sympathy. I struggled with the angle of the knots, the rope cutting into my wrists and making my fingers numb.
"Those people deserved to die!" the shifter yelled, pointing angrily. "They're liars and cheaters! They come here, pretending to be happily in love. But surprise; he's sleeping with his receptionist, she has a boyfriend in another city. And they don't even have the decency to tell the 'love of their life'." He carved air quotes into the air, making a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.
Turning his back on us, he strolled around the periphery of the room, inspecting the array of rusted instruments strown about. "Which brings me to the two of you. You really did almost fool me. If I were a betting man, I would have gambled my life on the fact that you were married. But the best liars are the greatest deceivers," he said, appraising us over his shoulder. "All it took was one handshake to know all your secrets. You're worse than the lot of them by leaps and bounds. He's been to literal hell and back and he still can't tell you the one thing he's been dying to say since he met you. And you ignore the truth, suppressing and pushing it all down deep inside you. Because you'd rather be miserable, than consider the possibility that he might reciprocate your feelings."
He gave a small, depreciating laugh as if the situation amused him in some macabre fashion. A pistol in hand, he faced us again. We both visibly stiffened at the glint of the weapon. "You're cowards really; too broken and damaged to think you're worthy of love. So, you lust after everyone you come across. The good news is, I have a solution."
Reaching down, he hauled me to my feet. Dean threatened him, hollering to let me go. I hadn't been quick enough with the rope around his hands, leaving them bound behind him. The shifter waved the gun, cautioning us against doing something stupid.
He deftly released the bonds on my wrists, pressing the gun into my hand. Breath tickling my ear, he raised the aim to Dean's chest. "Shoot him."
I scoffed, "You're crazy."
"Think about it," he coaxed in my ear. "How many times has he slept with other women, flirting with them while you're standing right there? How do you feel every time he ignores you? He didn't even call you when he came back from the dead. He's been the source of that constant pain in your life. And it'll all go away if you simply kill him." My hands slowly started to shake as he spoke. The words resonated within me more than I wanted them to. Feeling my hesitation, he let go and took a step back.
Dean sat staring up at me, regret souring the features of his face. I drew in a deep breath, blinking away the tears that had started to well up. "I'm sorry," I told him, taking one last look. Then I fixed my aim on the man standing behind me.
Genuinely surprised, Luke could only laugh. The deep, manic cackle filled the room, setting my teeth on edge. "How stupid do you think I am?" he chuckled. "Bullets can't hurt me."
I shrugged at him. "No, but I bet they hurt like a bitch," I said, placing my first shot in his shoulder. I unloaded the clip on him, hoping it would buy the time we needed. Each impact knocked him back a step, creating space between us. The trigger finally clicked, the gun empty of ammo.
"You done?" he asked, wiping the blood from his mouth. An unearthly look had begun to cloud his face.
"Any moment, Dean!" I shouted, throwing the pistol at the shifter, and managing to hit his head.
"Almost there," he assured me.
I dove at Luke, knocking him to the ground before he could grab something to use. I got a punch in before we started grappling, dirt flying around us. He rolled on top of me, pinning my arms to my sides. He leaned just close enough, so I reared back for a head butt. While the strike rung my dome, it did little to phase him. He hauled me to my feet by the shirt collar, growling in my face.
"There!" Dean finally exclaimed from across the room. The shifter and I turned to find him no longer bound, pearl grip gun in hand. I smiled briefly, knowing I had felt it tucked into the waistband of his jeans earlier. "Duck."
Stunned and more than a little confused, the shifter released me as I dropped to the ground. A single shot rang out, silencing the room. Waiting a moment to catch a breath, I slowly uncrossed my arms from over my head. A single silver bullet to the forehead had finished the job, the shifter's eyes dull and lifeless where he had collapsed in the dirt.
But like last night, we couldn't seem to bear to look at each other. We didn't even check to see if the other was unharmed. I helped myself up, dusting my clothes off best I could. Assuming and moving on, Dean agreed to handle the police if I would clean out our room.
Practically sprinting to the hotel, I felt my head begin to swim. Luke's words bounced around as I changed into my last clean pair of clothes. The familiar pit started settling in my stomach and I slammed the trunk of the Impala closed. A honking horn in the parking lot caught my attention, a charter bus headed to the little town nearby for the hotel guests. The squad of police cars had disrupted its normal departure and they were making last calls. Without any hesitation, I left my things and climbed onboard.
I found myself in a dive bar, having followed my feet without questioning where they were going. As expected, it was fairly empty for lunchtime, the music keeping it alive. I climbed onto an empty bar stool, receiving a pleasant smile from the male bartender.
"Whiskey neat," I told him. "Make it a double," I added, running a hand down my face in frustration.
"Sounds like you need the bottle," the cowboy a few seats down commented.
"You buying?" I questioned, turning my attention to him. He wasn't bad to look at, dark eyes hidden under a wide white hat. Perhaps a little plain, like every boy I had attended high school with. But the thing I loved most was he looked nothing like the Winchester brothers.
"Depends," he drawled. "What's your name, sweetheart?"
The bartender set my drink down in front of me. Picking it up, I tipped it back before answering. I took it in one swallow, not flinching as it burned down my throat. The cowboy's mouth twitched as he watched. "Darling, you can call me whatever the hell you want as long as you keep buying," I purred, setting the glass on the bar. He hurriedly motioned to the bartender for the bottle as I sidled closer.
By the time the after-work crowd arrived, we had lost count of our drinks hours ago. I graciously let him beat me at pool, throwing back the alcohol that was loser's penance. After we finished the first bottle, I felt liquored enough to follow him into the corner booth. We kept up idle chatter that neither of us cared about between kissing. After the second bottle was when I talked him onto the empty dance floor. We sang, danced, and grinded against each other until he was having trouble standing upright.
As more people flooded in, he led me to a back hallway. Leaning against the wall to keep his balance, I pressed against him, straddling one of his leg. Stealing his hat for myself, I didn't stop him as his hand slipped into my back pocket. He was barely lucid, not noticing I hadn't touched a drink in over an hour. But he grabbed my waist, kissing up and down my neck, as he asked if I wanted to go home with him.
I playfully giggled him off, batting my lashes at him from underneath his hat. His reaction was always the same, to aggressively kiss my mouth before darting in with his tongue. The longer I let him hold me as the music thumped around us, the more persistent he became. Annoyed that he had lost his charm so quickly, I forcefully told him no, moving off him.
"Where do you think you're going?" he slurred, grabbing my arms.
"Let go," I gritted out, pushing against his chest. I didn't want to make a scene, but I would.
"Hey, buddy, the lady said to let go." The deep voice was frosty over my shoulder as it addressed the cowboy.
With unfocused eyes, he appraised the man who had intervened. "Beat it, buddy," he said in a dismissive tone, "she's with someone." One of his hands reached down to squeeze my butt, a clear sign.
"Yeah, she is," the newcomer growled, overlapping my disapproving shout.
The cowboy shoved me out of the way, preparing to fight. That was when I noticed who my intercessor was. Dean's apple green eyes were poisonous as he watched his opponent, a storm raging behind them.
Knowing what was about to happen, I attempted to stop them. The cowboy shrugged me off, throwing the first punch. Dean easily dodged, letting the man stumble sideways and regain his balance first. Then he landed a solid jab that should have been enough to finish the fight before it even began.
At the last second, I saw him pull the punch. My blood started to boil as I realized what Dean was doing. He could have won this fight without any effort, but it wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to hit something, feel the pain in his knuckles as they connected with flesh and bone. He was hurting and lashing out in the only way he knew how.
The cowboy spun backwards into me, clearly unsteady. I grabbed his shoulder, stabilizing him. Balling my fist, I hit him myself, instantly knocking him unconscious. The bar became silent as his large frame struck the wood floor. I glared at Dean, giving him a disgusted snort as I dropped the man's watch onto his sleeping form. From the same pocket, I removed his wallet and tossed it to the bartender.
"Sorry about the mess," I apologized, strutting out with my head held high. Whistles and cheers surrounded me as I walked out the door, letting it slam behind me.
I didn't look back, wanting to make it around the corner of the building before I was spotted. I had no such luck.
Dean exploded out the door a few seconds behind me. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" he hollered after me.
"Away from you," I said, slipping into the side alley.
I heard the angry snort without having to turn around. "So, this is what you're into now?" he called out. "Letting strangers grope and kiss on you for nothing? First Sam, now this. I wonder what someone could get for fifty dollars."
"How dare you!" I wheeled on him. He had closed the distance between us faster than expected, startling me. "You don't get to decide what I can and cannot do. And you certainly have no rights to me or my body!" My chest heaved as I yelled, suppressed rage finally bubbling forth.
"Don't I?" he said, trying to rile me.
My hand acted on its own accord, reaching out to strike him. It was only a slap and wouldn't have hurt him. But I couldn't let him get away with a comment like that.
However, he plucked my hand from the air as if it were nothing. His face darkened dangerously as he pushed me against the wall of the building. He pinned the arm in his grasp over my head, rendering it useless. Dropping his head to my ear, he whispered in low voice, "Wanna try that again, sweetheart?"
I swallowed hard, my heart threatening to burst out of my ribcage. He was close enough I could smell the dirt that remined on his clothes and the last traces of bodywash. "What do you think you're doing?" I asked. I wish it sounded menacing, but my voice came out cracked and trembling.
He paused, pulling back just enough to see my face. His eyes searched me from top to bottom, ultimately resting on my lips as his free hand came to the side of my face. "I think…," he swallowed heavily, "I'm going to kiss you."
The words didn't register in my brain as he closed the distance between us. His lips lightly brushed mine, hesitant and tentative. It was wholly unlike what I had ever imagined; soft, gentle, and sweet like honeysuckle. The feeling reminded me of home, a warm and comforting place to rest after years away. My eyes widening in surprise, I could count every freckle on his cheeks.
When he pulled away, we both breathlessly panted though it had lasted only a second. His quick breathing tickled the aberrant hair on my forehead, our gazes locked. I couldn't read his face to tell what he was thinking, wondering if the same whirlwind was spinning inside his head. My whole vision was consumed by his eyes, our noses barely touching as I drowned in the emeralds.
I wasn't sure who instigated the next one. Simultaneously, his hand on my neck pulled me in closer as my fingers gripped at the short hairs on the back of his head. Unlike the first, this kiss tasted of fire and passion; a long-buried desire that had finally surfaced. At some point, he released my hand, his fingers slipping under my shirt to the small of my back. Grabbing his collar, I forcefully pulled him against me. There was an intense need to feel him pressed against every inch of me, the heat of his body matching the inferno spreading through me. A small moan leaked from my mouth as he sucked at my bottom lip. At the sound, he picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. The rough exterior of the wall bit into my back, but I didn't care. I couldn't focus between his fingers leaving bruises on my thighs and his mouth trailing down my neck. My fingers were threaded into the long locks on top of his head, my mouth against his ear. Every little noise I made, he heard perfectly. Alternating from nips to kisses, he worked across my collarbone. He deftly pulled all the fabric from my shoulder, having run out of free real estate.
As the breeze wicked the moisture from my bare skin, my inhibitions decided to return. "Stop," I panted, pulling his head from my neck.
The corners of his eyes crinkled with slight confusion, wondering what he had done wrong. I shook my head, even as I pulled his lips back to mine. I couldn't stop myself, wanting to taste the sweetness of his mouth one last time. And yet, I was the one who deepened the kiss, wishing I could live in this moment forever. He responded in turn, teasing at me with his tongue. I whimpered helplessly as he slipped past my lips.
This time I used both hands to push against his chest, making him drop me to the ground. "I'm serious," I told us both sternly, turning my face slightly. He was still too close, within reaching distance. If my body would just let me, I could easily get lost in him again.
"Why?" he asked in a low, gravely voice. His forefinger stroked my cheek as he gave me a knee-crippling gaze. A look he had mastered over the years and used on every woman he met.
I forcefully waved his hand away. "Because I know what you are, Dean Winchester," I accused. "You're the love and leave them type, and I won't have any part of it." I wasn't satisfied only being a one-night stand.
I turned sharply on my heel, leaving him standing there as I briskly walked to where I could see the Impala parked. He said something as he called after me, but I had already closed my ears. Chiding myself for being so stupid, I stuffed my feelings deep inside where they would be kept under lock and key. I'd had a lapse of judgement and it wouldn't happen again. But I guess the shifter had been right after all. I was a coward.