Author's Note: If we didn't already know and love Dean, he might seem like the world's biggest dick, in the following chapter. (Or at least, as big a dick as discussed in the previous chapter. You know, the stuffed one that's banana shaped. Or shaped like...well. You get it. But I digress.) We know that deep down, he's really a nice guy. On his way to Hell, of course, but only because he's The Righteous Man. (See Canon for this one).
Incidentally, I had to look up the definition of righteous because (quick, name the movie!) "You keep using that word, I do not think it means what you think it means". But here's what I found: right·eous ˈrīCHəs/adjective 1.(of a person or conduct) morally right or justifiable; virtuous. Another definition: 2. (informal) good, excellent.
I'm wondering if he's more of the number 2. definition, which is "excellent" in (Quick! Name this movie!): "He's a righteous dude". Or, as the dictionary I was using wrote: "It's a righteous bread pudding." (Which doesn't even make sense. Seriously? Bread pudding? WTF? Please, 'splain.) Anyhow, I'm not really (ever) seeing Dean as "virtuous". (Also, that's a whole other definition into which I will not delve.)
Welcome to my fan fiction, where the reader is forced to play trivia in order to understand the references in my comments. Bwahahaha…
Anyway, let me recap: Isolde just got rescued by the Winchesters from a gang of thugs intent on raping her and leaving her for dead. She's cut off from everything and everyone, especially her cousin, who is in FBI custody. And she's alone in a motel room with Dean and Sam. (Steady, people. Eeeeeaasy there, now.) And it's time to figure out what we'll do to get to the rest of the story, so we'll just spend some time here. Catching our breath.
Or losing it.
Speaking of losing it, I bring you-chapter five... Enjoy!
FIVE
I thought we'd run right out and save Kieran, and that, as they say, would be that. But Sam—who I'd been thinking of as my big, long-haired hero, at least during those comforting hugs—decided to point out that running into an FBI building in the middle of the night without a plan, especially since they themselves were fugitives of said Bureau, was not the wisest thing to do.
Big brainy geek.
You've probably figured out by now that Dean and I share some similarities, not the least of which is the desire to fight first and think last. So having someone like Sam around is a very good thing for people like us. At the moment, however, we stood there staring at him like he'd suddenly sprouted a pair of wings and started flying around the room.
"You mean...leave Kieran there?" I was the first of us able to articulate anything besides, "Gah".
"For all we know, they're holding him so that we do try to get him out. He could be bait." Sam wrinkled his forehead and pursed his lips.
I turned to Dean. "Seriously?"
Dean shrugged and made a kind of proud face. The kind like a parent's when their little Johnny wins the class spelling bee. It was actually kind of cute, in a twisted sort of a way. "He's probably right. You know, since we're fugitives and all."
What? They're...what? Never mind. I'd worry about that after. "But…bait? How could Kieran be bait?"
Sam shrugged. "They've probably made the connection between you, him—and us."
"Seriously?"
"Security cameras are everywhere." He nodded.
I couldn't argue with that. "So... we're supposed to just…stay here?" I looked around the room. It was disgusting. Dank and dark and filled with filth. I wrinkled my nose. "But...it smells weird."
Dean chuckled. "That's just Sammy."
Sam gave Dean an exasperated glare. Then he nodded. "For now, until we come up with some kind of plan. I'll call Bobby," he said.
Bobby? I had no clue. "Who's Bobby?"
Dean reached into his pocket; there was a jingling sound. "Good idea Sam. While you're doing that, you can go out on a supply run." He pulled out a set of keys, and tossed them to his brother.
Sam caught them in an easy catch.
"Get beer. And pie. Don't forget the pie."
"Do I ever forget the pie?" Sam muttered.
Wait. This wasn't-I couldn't..."Um. Yeah, but…I'll be..." Alone. In a motel room, with Dean. And later, alone with Dean and Sam. It was impossible. "Here? I-me? Stay here? I can't stay here!" I squeaked.
"Yeah, here. Sorry, but the Ritz had already rented out the Presidential suite, so this is where we decided to stay, Princess." Dean flopped down on the opposite mattress, crossed his booted feet and reached for the remote on the stand between the beds. He flicked on the tv. "Might as well make yourself comfy."
"Okay. I guess." I sank onto the opposite bed, completely unsure what to do or how to proceed. Or where to look. I tried staring at the television as Sam left on his errand. Comfy, he says, I thought. I doubted that I'd ever be "comfy" alone in a room with the elder Winchester brother and I risked a glance at the man on the opposite bed.
Wrong move. He smiled at me, and I knew then: the charm was on. And not the magical kind of charm, charm; it was the sexy playah kind of seductive charm. But you already knew that. Because, after all, Dean.
"What?" I said, trying to play it cool. Even though my stomach was fluttering and my breath was coming in short gasps. I'm in a room. Alone! With Dean Winchester. And a bed! Don't forget the bed.
Holy shit. There's a bed. There are two beds.
Do we need two beds? I think one bed is enough. Isn't it? Holy shit, I have no clue. I've never done this before.
I'm in deep trouble.
He waggled his eyebrows. "So. Insult."
"Isolde."
"Yeah. Whatever. That's what I said. Insult. You do tend to get yourself into situations, don't you?"
No kidding. Case in point. I mean...you lust after a guy for years and then you're suddenly in a room—a motel room!-alone with him.
And he can't remember your name. Or even pronounce it, apparently.
Awkward.
His eyes flickered to the mattress I sat on, and he smirked in a knowledgeable way. Uh oh. I wondered if I should move, but then, I'd look really uncool. He'd know I was nervous. Be casual, Isolde. No biggie. Except... "Do I? Get into situations, I mean?"
"Well, yeah. First at the diner, and then the alley."
"Uh huh." And now...here. This definitely counted as a situation if there ever was one.
He pushed himself upright, put his feet on the floor and leaned his elbows on his thighs. His shoulders looked so wide...his bared forearms under rolled sleeves were sinewy. And his eyes were so, so green. "You attract trouble."
Trouble, thy name is Winchester. I gulped. Yes. "Uh huh."
"But now, you're safe."
"I am?"
"Yep. You're here. With me."
I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Dean's and my definitions of "safe" were completely different. At least, in this moment. "Well...we're in this room."
"Yup. All alone." He waggled his eyebrows. Then he stood. Smiled, with confidence. "You remember the last time we were alone?"
Of course. I'd remember it until my dying day. Crap, I felt like I was about to die. From panic. Damn it. "Well, yeah. Because, you know, it was...um..."
"Yeah. Um." He moved, kind of like a panther. Smoothly, gracefully. Which would have been really hot if I was ready for that, but I wasn't. Not yet. I'd only just gotten re-acquainted with him, after all. It had been ten years. Ten years!
"Oh." I swallowed. Plus, there was something else. Some other problem. Besides being alone, and banished, and Kieran...and...something. I could barely hear my thoughts over the intense pounding of my heart. "I think there's something you should know." I know there's something I should know, too. It's important. And pertinent. But I was too overwhelmed to remember what it was. I was drowning in Dean's green-eyed gaze, and I swallowed. My mouth was dry.
"Really? What's that?" His voice was soft. Deep and velvety, like a purr. Not at all like his usual, gravelly rasp. The bed sank as he sat beside me; I felt myself tilting into his hot, hard body.
My nipples puckered. I could actually feel that. I won't even tell you what was going on between my legs, but things were happening there, too. I shivered as he reached out and brushed a piece of my hair from my forehead, and the gentle touch of his fingers on my skin made my entire body tingle. He leaned forward. I really needed to mention that thing. What was it? It was important. Nagging at me, distracting me from this moment I'd imagined for so very long...something, something he needed to know...
His breath touched my face, hot and humid, and then his lips touched mine, soft and wet. The tip of his tongue flickered against my lower lip and began threading into my mouth.
He tasted of whiskey and mint, the weirdest combination ever, and his big, hard torso pressed, solid and warm against mine. His jean-clad thigh wedged between my bare knees, gently moving them apart as he pressed me back against the mattress. I was completely engulfed, on fire, with my heart racing and my body weeping. His torso felt hot and tightly muscular against mine, and I could feel how my body affected his, rising in a rock-hard ridge under the scratchy blue denim. I raised my hips and moaned as I pressed upward; his hand touched my knee and began sliding up my inner thigh, making its way upward. His fingertip slid under the edge of my panties.
Panties! My giant, white cotton, totally serviceable, completely practical, definitely un-sexy, Grandma panties! I suddenly remembered what it was I'd been trying to tell him. "I'm a virgin!" I squeaked.
"What?" He came to a screeching halt. Well, not literally, but you could see the gears in his mind sort of clashing and grinding all over the place as he reared up and stared at me. "You're a...seriously?" He was breathing hard, as if he'd run a marathon. "Really?"
"Well...yeah." I pulled the hem of the shirt down over my legs. And the granny-panties. How humiliating.
"Oh." He sat up, looking at me like I was an exhibit in a museum. Which I was, really. Because no one is a virgin, anymore. Not anyone normal. Or over the age of twenty-one. "Really? Like, a virgin-virgin or just a virgin, or like a virgin but…?" He stared at me with disbelief.
"There are levels of virginity?" This was something I'd never considered. Was it even possible?
He tilted his head. "You're like, what? Twenty-something? How can you be…?"
I shrugged. "Welcome to my world."
"Man." He sort of shook himself, all his sexy-machinations put aside for now. Dean moved quickly off my bed and sat down on his. "A virgin. Wow." He blinked. "I'd heard rumors about you Cleaner girls, but never believed them."
"Believe them. Usually, I'd be married by now. I just managed to escape." I frowned as a thought occurred to me. No man had ever approached my father to ask to court me, or if they had, I was unaware of it. What the heck? Was there something wrong with me? I'd never really thought about it before because I didn't want to; I'd always been completely besotted by my YumYum Boy. And now that I was alone with him, the whole virginity problem took on a new dimension. Sonovabitch. "I think no one wants me."
He cleared his throat. "I wouldn't say that." Dean lowered his brows. "Maybe your cousin scared them all away. He's a scary-looking dude. Almost as big as Sam."
"Hairier, too. With beads."
We shared a snork of laughter, the kind that relieves an awkward moment and clears away the angst. Dean looked at me with his famous, sparkling green eyes. And then, the expression in them changed somehow. I can't really describe it except to say that suddenly, he was regarding me like someone—or something—he wanted to protect? Like, instead of having sex with me, he wanted to maintain my state of untouched-by-anything-resembling-or owning-a penis.
Well, shit.
I wanted to thank him, suddenly, but then I realized, I didn't. Instead, I wanted-still-hot, sticky, sweaty, tasty sex with YumYum Boy, and I wanted it right now. There was no way that would happen with him looming all protective and Lancelot-like on the other side of the room. So I assessed the situation, and came to a conclusion. I could use this protective trait of his to suit my own aim. "Honestly...it's problematic. You know, virgin's blood is a hot commodity in the supernatural world."
He tilted an eyebrow, and appeared to consider this.
"I'm in danger."
Tiny dimples appeared as he pursed his lips in thought. Not really dimples, I thought. More like…grimples. After a moment's thought, Dean nodded. "You know, you're right. Vamps find you a delicacy." He tilted an eyebrow and leaned toward me once more.
"Witches would pay a high price for me." I kind of leaned onto elbow and my side, attempting to posture a come and get me pose. "Really. It's a problem."
"Demons, too. And dragons." He advanced.
"Right! That's right. Dragons." I frowned. "Do dragons exist?"
He shrugged. "Anything's possible. But I don't want to find out. Do you?"
"Not particularly."
"All righty, then. Let's get this done." He leaned over my again, and reached for me. In the blink of an eye, one of his warm hands was behind my neck and the other was tugging free the buttons on the flannel shirt with gentle, calloused fingers. I shivered and pressed up into his touch. We're going to do it! Me! And Dean Winchester! All my dreams have come true.
His luscious, strawberry-tinted lips were nearly touching mine and—
"I'm back! I called Bobby. And I got cheese steaks. When in Philly! Oh. Sorry." Sam strode in, and we sprang apart.
Yeah. Sam Winchester. Definitely NOT my hero. Ever. Again.
0—0—0—0—0
We sat watching television. Actually, we sat watching Sam watching television, and sneaking glances at each other. I swear, you could feel the lust we emitted just saturating the room. Sam remained oblivious, however. Or maybe he wasn't oblivious. It was possible he was just used to being with his brother and hormonally-charged women, because there was no way a female could sit in the same room with such incredible hotness and not be physically aroused.
If you're wondering why I wasn't feeling at all guilty about feeling this way while Kieran sat in some Fed holding cell, probably scared and worried, it was because we—well, they—had a plan to get him out. But it required the presence of a man they called Bobby, and he wouldn't be able to get there until later the next day. So in the meantime, there was nothing to do except try to figure out a way to get rid of the hairy giant sitting between us on the shitty motel couch.
After about an hour, I got bored. Dean did too. He started cleaning his gun.
I mean…you know. His real gun. Not his—well. Anyhow, I started cleaning the motel room. I started with the bathroom (mainly because I needed to pee and it gave me an excuse to close the door, run the water, and flush the toilet. And then there was the ick factor; there was primordial bacteria growing in there. Any minute it was going to leap out of the bathtub where it posed as a ring and strangle some unsuspecting civvy trying to brush their teeth. I swear. Pure nastiness.)
Sam went in after I finished and came out with wide eyes. "It looks amazing in there. And it smells like...lemons and vanilla. I thought there was a design on the floor of the tub—it's gone."
"Yeah. No. It wasn't a design. It was mildew."
"Ugh," he said, and wrinkled his nose. "But there are no cleaning supplies anywhere. Did you use magic?"
"A little." (Actually a lot.) "And a lot of elbow grease." (Okay...a little. I wasn't about to touch that stuff without a layer of latex between it and my skin, and my gloves were in the van.) But I wasn't sure what Hunters knew about us, and to be honest, I wasn't sure what I was allowed to reveal. Then again, it didn't matter because I was going to be Banished after this, for sure. There was no way word of this wasn't going to get out.
I would have to stand before the Elders. The fact that these Hunters had rescued me from harm, and kept me safe and sheltered during a winter's night wouldn't matter. All the Elders would see is that I was not only talking to Hunters but sharing a room with them, sharing clan secrets and breaking every taboo...and potentially-probably-being de-virginalized by one of them, too. (Not that I minded that, so much. Not really.)
For once I didn't think of rebelling or leaving. Because those were fantasies. This was a harsh reality. As I began to think about what this all would mean-really thought about it-a chill swept over me. I could feel the color draining from my face. I thought of the way my mother had reacted upon learning I'd be assigned to the Winchesters. Had she known, somehow, that this would happen? She did have a reputation among others as a seer, but I'd never paid attention. She lost things all the time, like car keys, and she never appeared to notice things like—oh—me sneaking out to suck face with a strange boy on a Ferris wheel; how could she know things of import?
It struck me that once I was Banished, I'd never be allowed to speak with her again. I wouldn't even be allowed to say goodbye...It was one thing to think about it in the abstract, like I did that day in the van, but now it was practically a done deal, and it was terrifying. What was I going to do? Dean looked up from his shiny silver pistol, grinning. "Keep cleaning, Insult. This room won't clean itself..." he trailed off and the sparkle left his eyes. "Isolde? You okay?"
I nodded. "I'm okay. Just..." Realizing how screwed I really am.
He got up, dropped the gun and reached for me. "It's gonna be okay. You'll see. Everything will be fine." He folded me into his arms, and I buried my face in his chest, determined not to cry. Behind us, Sam cleared his throat. "I think I'm going to go out for a ride."
Really? That's all I needed to do to get him to leave again? Start to cry? Gee...that sucks. I sniffled and clung to Dean's hard, warm torso.
In moments, Sam had left, and we were once again left alone. Dean nudged my chin up with gentle fingers and kissed my forehead. "It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be all right. I've got you."
He lifted me up and carried me to the bed.
And—scene! Seriously? Gah. Isolde suddenly slammed the door in my face. I guess we'll have to wait—again. Sigh. Cross your fingers. And Dean, stay righteous!