Heyy. I'm just gonna copy and paste this message into all my fics, since I don't know who will read what. Previously I stopped updating on FF and strictly posted on A03, as I found it was easier to deal with tags/series there. However I have now retired and therefore decided to transfer it all over for you. Hope you like.

I've been binge watching Supernatural, I know, I know, a little late to the party. I love the boys, but Dean is a bit of dick, even if he is pretty and thus, this piece was born.

Set in Season 12, episode 6: "celebrating the life of Asa Fox." I have only watched up to 12x9, and haven't read any fic yet to avoid spoilers, so if this has already been done, I apologise for the repetition.

"Oh, shit, my bad. Didn't realise anyone was out here."

Mila looks up from the bottle of beer she was studying intensely and takes in who she knows to be Dean Winchester. Everyone inside the house has been clamouring over the Winchester brothers since they announced themselves, the whole pack of them fawning like they're not at a damn wake.

"Don't worry 'bout it," she grunts, swigging her beer and looking out towards the quiet landscape, dismissing his sandy hair and gruff beard.

"Wow, super friendly," Dean comments, taking a standing lean against the low stone wall she's sat on without invite.

The sarcasm in his voice combined with the presumption that he can interrupt her quiet space irks her, and she's more vicious with her next swig of beer, her front tooth taking a nasty hit from the rim of her bottle. "Oh yeah, not like I'm at my best friend's funeral or anythin', jackass."

There's no sound from the Winchester next to her, but when she glances at him from the corner of her eye, she finds his face is rearranged into a mixture of guilt and regret. "Okay, fair. Well, hey, lemme start again. I'm Dean."

She eyes the hand he proffers and for a second decides she's going to let it hang there, but there's something sincere in Dean Winchester's green eyes even in the dark, an understanding of pain that most hunters have and yet, it settles deeper in his.

Mila has heard the stories, thanks to Asa, so she's very aware of all that Dean has suffered, if the tall tales are to be believed that is.

Sighing, she briskly shakes his hand just as he began to lower it in defeat. "I know."

A resigned smile kicks the corner of Dean's mouth as he releases her hand. "You too, huh?"

Mila rolls her eyes skywards to enthuse her point. "Don't confuse me with your fan club in there. Asa worshipped you guys. Was your mom who got him into hunting after all."

It's not his mouth that kicks now, but his brow like she just handed him the puzzle piece he's been looking for. "You gonna throw your name my way or you gonna keep me guessin'?"

"Mila Scott and no, I'm not a hunter before you ask. PI," she ignores his low whistle at that and adds, "but I knew about the life through Asa." She shallows down a lump in her throat and chases it with beer. "We grew up together."

Dean's mouth struggles with a smile like he knows he shouldn't but he's going to anyway. "Anddd... maybe shared a bed a time or two?"

Mila scowls in return. "You're a jerk."

"'Cause I'm right, or 'cause you don't like that I'm right?" He leans a little heavier into the wall, almost sitting next to her, his scent invading her space, something spicy that tickles her nose.

Rolling her eyes once more, she takes another long pull of beer before answering. "We thought the best friend thing was a chemistry thing but it weren't. End of story."

"Gee, you're worse at conversation than me. You sure you're not a hunter?" Dean quips, nudging his shoulder into her like they're old pals.

"What part of best friends funeral are you not getting, you dick?" She growls, shoving her shoulder back into him without the playfulness he had.

"Hey, whoa, just trying to lighten the mood," he mutters, beer nearly sloshing down his shirt.

"Well don't," Mila hisses, catching his eyes with her own hazel ones. "I didn't invite you to sit with me, Dean an' we sure as hell ain't friends. So please feel free to back off."

Standing abruptly, she downs the last of her beer and proceeds to stalk off, leaving the eldest Winchester behind. He has no reason to chase after her but she hears his feet crunching gravel anyway. Scowling, Mila picks up the pace, taking the trek through the trees to hers and Asa's favourite spot.

"Hey, Mila, hold up a sec," Dean finally calls and when she doesn't stop, his hand suddenly takes her shoulder and spins her to face him. "Hey, wait."

"For goodness sake, Dean, what? What is it? You can't stand a woman walking away from you?" She violently shrugs out of his grasp and he allows it, hand falling from her shoulder and his face settling into something hard and stony.

Mila continues on, taking a deep breath to propel her. "Don't like when all those little comments and that fake charm don't work? You know what they say about you most, Winchester? Not how you come back from the dead or how you beat this bad guy or the next. They talk about your ego. How it's so damn big, you bend the rules of the fucking universe because Dean and Sam Winchester are more important than everybody else!"

"You done?" He asks calmly, even as his face portrays nothing but a whole lot of pissed off.

"Fuck off," she barks.

They lapse into silence after that, Dean's eyes burning into hers. "You're hurting and hey, you can take it out on me if you need but I ain't the one that took your friend."

Mila sighs heavily and sinks down onto the tree stump she stormed to, hers and Asa's playing grounds when they were younger. "Just go back inside. You don't even know me."

Dean sighs too, glancing back in the direction of the house like he left a problem back there. "I've been a dick lately, gotta do something right once in a while."

She doesn't know what to say to that, sensing the comment to be more for himself than her, so she says nothing in reply. Wishing she hadn't finished her beer, or at least brought another one out with her, she glances at the empty bottle still in her hand and discards it.

Taking a lock of her own hair to twist around her fingers instead, Mila observes the different melody of colours beneath the blonde from years of home dyes and three am breakdowns, just to avoid Dean's waiting gaze. There's a bout of silence, punctuated only by Dean's throat swallowing his beer, the liquid in his bottle sloshing back to the rounded bottom. Mila sighs again and releases her hair so it falls back against her ribs.

Scrubbing her hands over her face, she grumbles through her splayed fingers, "look, I'm sorry for being a jerk."

"Don't sweat it," Dean answers immediately.

Glancing over at him, she finds he's looking right back at her and her stomach does a funny little flip at how attractive he is. "I guess I just wanted a moment, y'know? Suspended moment of nothingness. Where he's not dead. Where there's still someone that gives a crap about me in the world."

Thankfully, Dean doesn't try to give her crappy placating words but he does hold her eyes, and that continues to make her stomach flip over. "Just you, huh?" He finally asks, taking a swig right after and making her flush at the bob of his Adam's apple.

Breaking his eye contact, Mila swallows tightly. "Must be nice to have a brother to rely on."

"Also makes you feel like no one's more important than them," he admits to her earlier remark, surprising her.

She connects with his eyes again even though they make sweat bead on her forehead. "Sorry 'bout sayin' that."

"Stop apologising." He doesn't say it forcefully but Mila gets the impression most words out of Dean Winchesters mouth hold authority.

Resisting the irony of her apologising to that, she deflects. "How'd you know Asa? Pretty sure he would have mentioned if he was friends with his idols."

"Yeah well, we weren't," he answers bluntly. "Friend of a friend." When she merely raises her eyebrow and waits, he slightly cocks his head and adds, "Jody Mills."

"Gotcha."

A further silence settles and Dean places his empty beer bottle among the litter of leaves. "Y'know you can still have your suspended moment. I can leave."

She's not sure if she cares either way, but his eyes make her squirm. What he said though, about having her moment...

When she doesn't respond, Dean nods with a muttered, "right," his hands clapping to his knees as he braces to stand.

"Dean."

Turning to face her, he asks, "yeah?"

Mila stands too and steps towards him, despite his still face rippling into confusion. "I can have my suspended moment."

"Wha- ah."

The word slides onto her lips as she kisses him, stretching on her toes to reach and cupping the back of his head and neck with each of her hands. She pulls away slowly, holding his eyes. For a solid second, they hold eye contact that sends tiny sparks licking up her spine.

Dean's mouth tips a little, a dash of cocky as he shrugs. "Okay, let's do it like that."

With that, his hands falls down her waist, cup beneath her ass cheeks and heave her up with ease. The squeal in her throat dies on a breathless gasp, her fingers clenching into the back of his neck as her back meets a tree. They move in a frenzy, her hands shoving off his jacket and his much larger ones pulling at her t-shirt so his rough fingers can touch the bare flesh of her waist beneath.

Their mouths meet again, her tongue lashing his while his fingers seek the waistband of her combats. The elastic gives and Dean breaks the connection of their mouths to lean back, his rising cock pressing between her thighs as his hips keep her pinned to the tree. He glances down to where the elastic has given, revealing her navy thong.

"Nice," he drawls, a calloused finger sliding under the band on her left hip and snapping it back against her skin.

Mila gasps sharply and he takes her mouth again, swallowing it. As he kisses her senseless, liquid heat pools between her legs, where Dean's fingers begin to quest. Swallowing down her next sigh, his knuckles nuzzle against the damp spot on her panties.

Dean's mouth comes away from her again and bends to her throat, nibbling and kissing his way up to her ear to whisper, "atta girl."

Mila's eyes close, her mind narrowing to the sensations in her pussy. He pulls her underwear to the side, trapping it with a thumb and she sucks in a breath as the cool air bears down on her heat.

"Oh, Mila," he sighs against her collarbone.

"Please," is all she manages to whimper back, her nails digging into his neck.

"I got you sweetheart."

Fingers slice her damp pussy lips apart and graze over her clit, create a spasm that runs from her right hip to knee. Dean chuckles in her ear, and the sound holds a dark note. It reminds her of all the tales about Dean Winchester, how he's been to hell, been a demon. Bore The Mark of Cain. Touching that kind of darkness surely settles under a guy's skin, a bruise no one can see.

Leaves an impression on his soul, and possibly... his desires. The thought escapes her as his fingers ride down her slit and find her leaking entrance, his sharp intake of breath setting butterflies free in her stomach. Her nails dig deeper into the flesh of his neck, pulse pounding with anticipation as he slowly but surely slides his fingers into her cunt.

"Fuck," Mila breaths, head tipping back against the tree.

Dean uses the new angle to attack the skin of her throat, hot kisses raining down from ear to collar bone and back again. At the same time, his fingers begin a shallow thrusting in and out of her pussy, eliciting sounds from her mouth she hasn't made in a long time. Her voice breaks on many of them like it's forgot how to allow them free.

"There you go," he breathes sinfully down her ear, creating goosebumps that flare over her shoulders.

"Dean," is all she manages back, enjoying his thrusts becoming deeper, faster.

Mila's legs begin to tremble and that dark chuckle drifts over her flesh once more, tying her stomach up in knots. Before she can decide if it's just pure excitement or an orgasm, his fingers pull free of her depths with an obscene squelch. She glances down just in time to find him sucking those fingers clean, lashes fluttering like he's never tasted anything so good.

Their eyes lock and she can't break it, no matter how much her heart feels like it's crawling up into her throat. Dean smiles slow, with deliberate devastation and murmurs, "like my favourite pie, sweetheart."

From any other man's lips, those words would have her rolling her eyes, but falling from his slick lower lip, they make her pussy clutch in desperation. "More," she begs.

A devilish smirk replaces his pleased smile as he reaches down with the hand wet with her arousal and his own spit and pops the button on his jeans. Mila swallows, heart racing in her chest, mewling when his knuckles brush her damp cunt to pull his cock free. She glances down between them, but the fabric of her trousers blocks her view, much to her disappointment.

"You ready?" He asks lowly, her eyes straining to see him as the sun dips even lower in the sky.

Mila can't trust herself to speak so she only nods, breasts heaving with her trembling breath. Dean notices this, his eyes flicking to her breasts propped in her bra. Her t-shirt is lifted above it, slipping slightly and he rectifies it, pushing it even higher so it bunches under her chin. A satisfied growl begins in the base of his throat, losing none of it's bite as it worms out of his mouth.

The hand on her waist rides up her hot, trembling flesh and brushes over her breasts, squeezing one before continuing its journey to her throat. His hand wraps there and she squeaks when her stomach flips, his fingers curling around the back of her neck and his thumb lay across her windpipe. Adrenaline is pounding through her body as he stares at her, and her right back at him.

That eye contact doesn't break as his other hand disappears from her line of sight and then the head of his cock presses tauntingly between her pussy lips, nuzzling at her entrance and begging permission. Her tongue flicks out to wet her dry lips and she swallows to ease her accompanying dry throat.

"Please, Dean," she whispers, feeling these are the words he needs.

The smirk on his face morphs into bared teeth as his hips tilt forward and his cock spreads her open, her wet heat sucking him inside. He curses under his breath, his hand tightening on her throat as his dick burrows deeper. Her breath catches in as he works in and out, spreading her until he can bottom out and their pelvis and chest are flush.

When he takes her mouth again, it's almost sweet in its laziness, his cock resting snug in her walls. The kiss soon grows, prompting the movement of his hips, thrusts transforming from shallow to deep, from soft to hard. Dean's teeth snag her lower lip and bite down as hard as his next pound, the bark of the tree scratching deep into the flesh of her exposed hips.

His feral grunt presses into her lips and finds refuge in her throat, recycling into her own moan of contentment. Another spasm starts up in her thighs, her flesh trembling around his hips when it's wrapped.

"Son of a bitch," he growls into her mouth.

"Harder," Mila urges him. "You got more than that."

She can feel the responding anger at her goading in the press of his thumb on her windpipe, in the snap of his hips and the ferocity of his kiss. The hand not around her throat presses against her pussy, his thumb turning to fit snug against her clit and roll it. White hot sparks burn against her spine and down between her legs, heat and pleasure surging.

Christ, his reputation with the ladies sure was no joke. The way he's working her, between his kiss, his hands and his cock is unmatched by any experience she's ever had. Her soft, pleased moans become feral sounds, animalistic in nature. The orgasm sucks her into a warm, hot void of in between space, the world around her narrowing down to Dean Winchester.

"I'm gonna cum," Mila groans against his mouth and follows it with a scream of ecstasy.

Dean pounds into her with urgency, burning her from the inside out, still rolling her clit and dragging her orgasm out with excruciating precision. The hand around her throat all out throttles her, setting white bubbles to pop before her eyes. Just when she feels like she can take no more, he releases her throat and takes her hips, a rattling gasp screeching out of her mouth.

With his grip on her hips, he plunges deep and holds, leaning down to leave a mean, painful bite on her shoulder. The sound that means to escape her breaks and her nails tears chunks out of the back of his neck in return. Hot ropes of cum pour into her pussy but she's in such a contended daze she can't find it in her to care.

Dean stills for a moment before his body goes loose, his head falling into the sweaty hollow of her throat. "Fuck, sorry."

"Stop apologising," she throws back at him with a slight slur.

There's a quiet chuckle against her skin and a slight squeeze of her hips. "We should probably get back."

That pierces her moment, and she frowns slightly. The logical pat of her knows he owes her nothing, but it still stings. Pulling out of her completely, he gently helps her ease down onto her stiff legs. They both avoid each other's eyes as they pull up their necessary clothing. When they're straightened up, they can't drag the moment out any longer.

Mila clears her throat and awkwardly tucks her hair behind her ear. "Well, er, thanks, I guess."

Dean laughs but it's not full of humour. "Yeah, that's me, happy to help out."

"Dean-"

"Well, sorry to interrupt." Both hers and Dean's eyes fly to the voice in the dark, finding a dark-skinned woman with beautiful, bouncy curls and big eyes. "Looks like I missed the show."

"Billie," Dean comments, looking as surprised as Mila before it turns into worry. "Where you been reaping?"

Billie has a coy look and even coyer smile on her face as she nudges her shoulder towards the house. "Inside."

Dean's face solidifies. "Sammy?"

"No, your precious Sam is fine, but the house is warded. You ain't getting in, Sunshine. Good job you got company out here." She nods towards Mila, who bristles at the comment.

Not sparing her a glance, Dean steps forward with his chin pointed and face hard. "Hey, forget her. Get me inside. Now."