Dean Winchester was not one to be particularly giving and yet, funnily enough, it seemed to be about the only thing that he was good for.
He had given his life to the hunt. Literally. He had sacrificed his own wants and needs, his own ambitions and desires, hell, he had sacrificed his whole damn being, time and time again, to be the perfect soldier for his father, the perfect brother for Sam, and all under the banner of 'a good cause'. Dean tutted. He didn't even know if there was such a thing any more, if there ever was.
He can still feel the moist Earth churn beneath his fingertips and taste the soil that was lodged deep in the back of his throat, choking him, as he fought, tooth and nail, to claw his way out of the ground.
The angels had brought him back. Angels, of all the things in the freakin' world. Dean scoffed. The angels had brought him back and stuffed him into his old meat suit like a reanimated corpse, only somehow, it didn't seem to fit quite right any more. His bones felt weary, aged - forty years - and there was a heaviness with each breath that he drew that wasn't there before. And they did this, not because of how he had been dragged so viciously down to Hell, so unjustly, but because, according to them, he still had more to give. So very much more.
Dean sighed, jaded.
"Hey, you okay?" Sam asked, concern lacing his voice as they trudged across the soft lawns, through the marsh and mire, towards the large plantation that was nestled amidst the banks of the bayou Lafourche.
Dean swore inwardly. He'd been caught in a moment, vulnerable, and cursed himself for slipping.
He didn't need Sam hovering over him like a nanny. They had bigger fish to fry and knowing Sam, and the big girl that he was, he'd want to talk about it, and there was no way in heaven or hell that he was ready or willing to do that.
"Peachy." Dean mumbled.
Sam narrowed his gaze and bitch face #3 made an appearance. "Look, I just want you to know that -"
" - you're here for me. Yeah. I know, Sammy. Thanks."
Sam offered Dean a hard look as they ascended the steps towards the galley. "Fine, you don't have to talk to me, but sooner or later, you're going to have to open up to somebody."
"Is that right, Dr Phil? I beg to differ." Dean argued, raising his hand to press the brass doorbell that was located beside the magnificent French doors. He held it down a fraction of a second longer than was necessary, drawing out the pleasant tone in order to stifle any further comments from Sam.
Sam just frowned, staring ahead of him. Dean could be such a child.
After a moment, a noise came from behind the door, followed by the click of a lock and the door swung open to reveal an attractive woman in her late forties, dressed in nothing more than a pleated sundress and yellow flip-flops.
"Well, well, well, I was wonderin' when you boys might find your way back here." Maggie Kinsella greeted warmly, smiling.
"Oh, please. All the voodoo in the world couldn't keep us away from your delectable gumbo." Dean replied smoothly, resorting to his usual charm.
"Well, you know better than most, my boy, the bayou is a dangerous place, even for a Winchester. Now, c'mere and bring it in."
Dean stepped forward and embraced the older woman, breathing in the nostalgic aroma of home-brewed liquor and spice.
"Oh, and I'm so sorry to hear about your papa, boys. I know it's been a little while but he was a ... a good man." Maggie released Dean and placed a consoling palm on Sam's shoulder.
Sam smiled, sincere, his eyes the colour of whiskey, backlit by the sun. "It's fine. A lot has happened since then." He replied tenderly.
"So I heard." Maggie breathed, her eyes drifting back towards Dean, where they lingered.
Dean cleared his throat and jammed his fists into his tight, denim pockets, avoiding eye contact.
"Tandy!" Maggie called suddenly, startling the brothers. A smile graced her gentle features then and she stepped aside to let them both in. "The boys're here!"
"Send'em out back, mama!" Tandy hollered, her voice distant, subdued.
"She's in the shed, you boys go on." Maggie urged, ushering Dean and Sam through the ornate foyer, past the Hampton's style kitchen with its marble tiling and out towards the back deck.
"You should know, Mrs Kinsella." Dean began, peering up at her now through sandy lashes, to engage the wise voodooiene. "We promise to take good care of your daughter out there."
"Oh, I don't doubt that for a second, sugar, but it's not my Tandy m'worried about." Maggie smirked. She gestured towards the large garage-turned-autoshop, muttering something about 'fixin' up some lemonade' and closed the door behind them.
Sam shrugged and he and Dean strolled down the back steps, past a frog-filled pond, and towards the shed.
The air was thicker the closer they came to the swamp, and Dean made a comment about feeding Sam to the alligators if he so much as smirked the way he had earlier.
Sam nodded, serious, but the moment Dean turned away, he let the smirk slide into place.
In the shed, Tandy was bent over the hood of her truck, having changed into a knotted plaid shirt, combat boots and semi-modest short-shorts.
Dean stole a moment to admire the view, despite Sam's reproachful gaze. What? It was a nice view.
Sam cleared his throat and Tandy withdrew from the depths of her engine. She smiled, dropped a wrench into the tool kit at her feet and removed a grease-stained rag from a nearby hanger. She wiped her hands and collected something from the work bench to her left. "Here, take this."
Tandy handed Sam a long, dry whip. It had been sharpened on one end into a lethal point and smelt distinctly of sea water. "A whip made entirely from a stingray's tail. This should do the trick. We stick this sucker right in the heart and he won't be troublin' the good folks of the bayou for very much longer."
"Nice." Sam uttered, clearly impressed as he turned the whip over in his hands.
"What is all this stuff?" Dean asked, gesturing towards the many odd - and somewhat confronting - artefacts that were strewn across the garage space.
Tandy shrugged. "Trinkets, souvenirs. Ya never know when some of it might come in handy."
"Like an Aswang-slaying whip." Sam offered.
Tandy smiled, radiant. "'Xactly."
"And where did you come across this?" Dean pressed on, reaching for an empty magnum on the dust strewn bench that was home to a variety of bits and bobs. It was a Broken Butterfly, powerful, with an intricate engraving carved into the hilt. It was a damned beautiful gun. Almost as beautiful as his own Desert Eagle.
"Actually, that, uh, that was my daddy's." Tandy replied softly.
"Oh." Dean mouthed, placing the revolver back down gently. Like most hunters and their offspring, Tandy and her father's relationship was, well, complicated, at best. From what Dean could gather, he had been hard on her. Harder than he had been on her brothers, at least. He didn't want his daughter to hunt. He wanted her to follow in her mama's footsteps instead. To help from 'behind the scenes'. Knowing Tandy though, that was never going to be an option. She was stubborn, strong-willed. It's probably why she got along with Sam so well. Hell, they were like two peas in a freakin' angst-filled pod.
"You're working on your car?" Sam asked, just as surprised as Dean felt.
"Praise the Lord." Dean muttered.
"Watch it, Winchester." Tandy snapped, the ghost of a smile gracing her full lips.
"Y'know, I'm pretty good with cars, if you need a hand?" Dean suggested, rolling his shoulders in what he thought was an endearing gesture.
Tandy smiled, genuine, exposing the slight dimple on her chin. "Naw. Y'know, Dean, that's actually really sweet, I -" She paused, her eyes dropping to her father's revolver and sighed. She raised her hand to rub the back of her neck, thoughtful. "Honestly, I'd just rather get this case over and done with so business can resume as usual." She admitted.
Dean glanced down, rejected.
Again.
Damn. That shit hurts.
"Business?" Sam inquired.
"I had to give up my shift today at the bar. My mama's apprentice needs the coin. Unfortunately, so do I. Workin' at the bar is, well, it's the only thing that keeps me sane. The sooner we slay this sucker, the better." Tandy confessed.
Sam nodded. He understood the value of having a 'normal' life, even if it was just for a moment, and could appreciate that.
"Well, on that note, we should prob'ly get goin' before we run outta daylight." Tandy said, dropping the hood of her truck and pointedly ignoring both the loud clatter that followed and Dean's incredulous look.
"D'you wanna ride with us? It'd give us both the peace of mind." Dean proposed, legitimately concerned for her safety.
Tandy chuckled but nodded nevertheless. "Y'know what? I'd like that. Gives us a proper chance to catch up."
Dean frowned but followed Sam and Tandy out of the shed any way. It's funny that she would mention that, seeing as it seemed like she couldn't get through this case fast enough and kiss them both goodbye.
Well, maybe that last part about kissing them both good bye was just wishful thinking, but hey, a man could dream.
Images of fire and brimstone and a terrible, unending forever flashed intrusively before Dean's eyes and he swallowed down the sudden dryness in his throat.
A man could certainly dream.
