"What do you mean you married her?"
"There's only one thing I can mean, Sammy."
"But she's just a kid!"
"Yeah, I get that, thanks. I wish everyone would stop reminding me for two seconds."
"Why in the hell did you do it?"
"You know how Ike is," Dean replied, causing the other end of the line to go silent. Finally, his little brother spoke.
"It got that bad, huh?"
"I guess you could say that. It's just easier to marry her now and get rid of the man then put up with him anymore."
"I understand," Sam agreed in a quiet tone. Dean could hear the tapping keys of Sam's laptop reach his ears. Sam continued. "So you're really bringing her on the road with us?"
"That's the idea," Dean said in an obvious tone.
"And what? You're suddenly going to straighten up?"
Dean furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to speak, shut it quickly, and opened it once more.
"What does straightening up have to do with marriage?"
Sam chuckled. "This is a joke, Dean. You know I love Skylar, but let's be honest…you're going to be one shitty husband."
Shitty husband, my ass.
"If you're referring to my obsession with loose women and whisky…go screw yourself."
"All I'm saying is that you will never be satisfied with one women, and you know I'm right. Skylar is gorgeous, but she's not exactly 'worldly' if you get my drift."
Dean mimicked his brother's words in the phone, half way through, hanging up. The last thing he needed was for his kid brother to tell him exactly what he had already been thinking.
But in all honestly, maybe at 28, he had sewed his wild oats enough to calm down and be a one women man, even if that one women was Skylar.
He didn't have any intention of actually sleeping with her though. The whole thought felt wrong. So he supposed that living like a monk for a while would do his body some good. Cleanse the soul?
Eh, who was he kidding?
Later that night…
Skylar's wedding day was nothing like she had pictured countless times before.
She had been set up, kidnapped, buried alive, and the gash in her stomach hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. She fucking hated hunting with a passion.
Skylar stared at her reflection, barley recognizing the girl that stared back at her. Only moments ago, they were in the woods fighting a vengeful spirit before salting and burning the remains. It was no easy task finding that assholes remains, but somehow they managed it.
On the outside (or inside for that matter), Dean didn't appear to be too bright unless he was 'in the zone.' The guy was amazing at what he did, that much she couldn't deny.
A knock on the bathroom door jolted her out of her thoughts. She cleared her throat.
"Come in."
Dean walked in, holding a tool box from the trunk of his car. When he opened it, it was full of medical supplies. "Prepared for anything, huh?" Skylar said with a wry smile.
"No time for hospitals, Sweetheart," he said. "Lemme take a look."
He sat on the edge of the tub, grabbing her by the wrist to bring her forward. He lifted up her tank top. She winced at the sudden pain in her side as he inspected the wound.
"Rubbing alcohol or whisky. Your choice."
"Hmmm," she was half listening, her vision beginning to blind from the pain."
"I have to clean it. What's your poison?"
"Ehhh," Skylar ground out. "How about non-stingy antiseptic."
"Nope."
She rolled her eyes. "I guess whisky. Do not putting rubbing alcohol on it."
"Yes, maam," Dean grinned at her assertive tone despite the situation. "Here. Drink."
Dean handed her a bottle of whisky. "I thought you were gonna put it on the giant gash in my side. I don't want to drink that."
"I'm going to do both. And stop being so dramatic. I've seen worse."
"Seeing as you've been to hell and died more times than I can count, I know you have. Doesn't make it hurt any less."
Just then, Dean pressed his thumb into the gash, causing her to scream in agony. "Drink!"
"Bastard," she growled. Reluctantly, Skylar brought the large bottle full of amber liquid to her lips and took a long drink. It burned all the way down, making her gag in reflex.
"Good girl," Dean said as he took the bottle and splashed a large amount on her wound while she was distracted by the taste.
She screamed again. "Shhhhh," Dean hushed in a tone that was meant to be soothing; and for her to shut up.
Luckily, he worked quickly on the gash, placing a large white bandage on her abdomen and securing it tightly in place.
"All done," he said while slowly putting her bloodied shirt down over the gash.
Skylar was feeling nauseous; threats of vomiting were beginning to come to the surface. "I think I'm dying," she said wearily while clenching at her stomach.
She felt Dean's strong hold on her hips. "It's your first real battle wound, Baby Girl. The pains liable to make you see white lights and puke your guts out. When you become immune to pain, like I am, it'll get easy to take a hit."
"This isn't…a hit," she swallowed the bile rising in her throat. "I can take a punch. I can't take it when fucking monsters grip you from the outside and try to rip your guts out!"
Threw her blurred vision, she could see Dean smirk at her outburst, though he continued to keep a tight hold of her. "Sit down before you have an aneurism."
"I'm fine," she lied.
"Sit…down," he jerked her backwards until she sat on his leg. Skylar was too weak to protest.
"I don't feel good," she finally said in a soft tone that came out much whinier than she had anticipated.
"I know."
"I need to puke."
"I know."
Dean lifted the toilet seat just in time for her to lean forward and empty her stomach. It seemed like they spend hours like that until her vision went completely black and she lost consciousness.
Dean lifted the remaining whisky to his lips and looked down at Skylar's form. She would probably be passed out until morning.
Considering her reluctance to fully embrace the hunter's life, Dean had to admit that she did a really good job of 'distracting' the spirit until he was able to get the location of the remains. With no marker, that had been no easy task. She had been buried…hence the ghosts obsession with 'death by asphyxiation.' And before Dean had burned and salted the remains, apparently the damn thing had taken a chunk out of her while she was still lying in a coffin.
That's when a burst of flames had highlighted her darkened tomb. If Dean had been any later, she could have been killed. Married 16 hours, and he almost got her killed already.
This was going to be a long…life.
Dean sighed and came to stand over her body, contemplating her disheveled and bloody form. "Sky?" he whispered. "Sky," he said again, waiting for a response that never came.
Opening up her pink duffle bag, he reached inside and found a night shirt that had a sleeping bear with a night cap on. Bunching up the fabric, he brought the shirt to his forehead and breathed deep before chuckling in astonishment.
"This whole situation is a cluster fuck."
Dean rose from the spot, and without thinking, gingerly took off her tank top, replacing it with the clean shirt. He went on to rub the blood from her body with a wet wash cloth, closely watching her breathing for any signs of struggle. He saw none. She was only passed out and would be fine.
Sam had been in the same situation more times than he could count, and not even then did Dean worry like he was worried now. A 6'4 Sasquatch was a lot easier to not worry about than some 120 pound teenager.
The clock on the bed stand read 3 am, and if he was lucky, he could catch a few hours' sleep before heading to Minnosota, where Sam was currently working a case. Over the years, Sam rarely made the trip to Illinios with Dean in order to see Skylar.
He thought the trips were pointless. However, Sam's branded bitch was currently living in Louisiana. She was some psycho that was all into this 'girl power' shit and refused to do what she was supposed to.
With all of Dean's faults, he had reluctantly did what he had to, and that's watch out for the little Princess with a mean daddy. It sounded like a fucked up fairytale.
Dean laid down next to her sleeping form, watching her steady breathing for nearly an hour before drifting off into a restless sleep.