Chapter Two – Hook, Line, and Sinker

Ellen continued to chatter as she ushered the boys over to the bar. Leila resumed her place behind it and got the guys beers before pulling out a tumbler and a bottle of Jack Daniels for herself. "Pour me a shot of that, will ya?" Dean asked. She obliged. Sam and Ellen both declined Dean's offer to have a shot with him. "Well, what about you, then, sweetheart? Have a shot with me when you get back from wherever you're taking that?"

She looked at him, confused for a moment, hands busy with pouring ice and whiskey into her glass. Finally, she figured out what he was talking about and laughed. "Oh, this isn't an order, it's for me. But yeah, I'll do a shot with you." She poured herself a shot glass full of whiskey, clinked it against his glass, and downed it before sipping from her own glass of Jack on the rocks. She might not be a hunter, but she could sure as hell hold her liquor like one.

"So," Ellen asked, "you boys planning on sticking around for a while?"

Dean replied. "Yeah. If you've got a room available, we figured we'd crash here for a bit, take a little break. We've sent a couple dozen demons back to Hell in the past four months. Figured we were entitled to some shore leave, and we wanted to spend it with you." His words were for Ellen, but his eyes wandered in Leila's direction. She giggled just a bit, on the inside. Well, that was fast. Whatever. As busy as they've been, he probably hasn't had any in a long time, he'll take whatever's in front of him at this point. We'll let him simmer awhile.

Ellen nodded, but she noticed Dean's hungry glance as well and determined to nip that in the bud. "Hey, Dean, why don't we take you and Sam's stuff back to the room? I'm sure Sammy'll help Leila hold down the fort." She winked conspiratorially at the older Winchester and nodded in Leila and Sam's direction. He looked almost miffed for a moment but then grinned wolfishly and stood up from his barstool to follow her out to the car. Leila watched them go. Yep. That's the Dean I know. Always thinking of Sammy before himself.

"Smooth," Sam commented, embarrassed. Leila just shrugged. She'd figured on this happening. Hoped for it, actually. From everything she knew about Dean Winchester, she'd already figured out that the best way to get to him would be through his brother. She'd just have to make sure Sam didn't fall for her. That was definitely not part of The Plan. If her research into him was right, though, it wouldn't be a problem. She might be smart, but she was definitely not his type.

"So, how'd you and your brother…Dean, right?" Yeah, 'cause I totally don't know his name better than my own. Riiiight. Sam nodded, and she continued. "How'd y'all get into hunting?"

"Oh, we were born into it." He told her the relevant bits of the story, and she pretended to look shocked and sympathetic in all the appropriate places. She knew the story, knew more of it than he told, in fact, but she wanted to hear it from his lips. Wanted to let him feel that he was opening up to her, that he was letting her in on a secret. The telling was far more for his benefit than it was for hers in this instance. Still, she was a little surprised at how much he revealed. Jesus, Sammy, you don't know me from Adam Housecat, and here you are telling me your whole life story…shit, I hope you don't jabber away at the demons like this. Not everybody has a spirit as benevolent as mine.

By the time Sam told her about how The Demon had finally met its end four months earlier, Dean had reappeared. "Sammy, are you braggin' again about our amazing feats of heroism and valor?"

"It's Sam," he snapped, more from reflex than anger.

"Yeah, yeah. Anyway, Leila, it seems that Sam here has told you our entire history. So what's your deal? How'd a nice girl like you end up in a place like this?"

She took a deep breath. It was time to see if she could really pull this off. "Well," she started, "I got into hunting completely by accident. I was in North Carolina teaching Classical Studies…"

"What school?" Sam interrupted.

"You were a teacher?" Dean asked at the same time, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Duke." She studiously ignored Dean's question. It was obvious that he didn't hold teachers in particularly high regard. But then, she knew that already. All part of The Plan. He didn't need to like her, he just needed to respect her…for now. "It was my first semester of teaching; I had just graduated from the program myself a couple of years before. So I was teaching Sexuality in the Ancient World, and one of my students came to my office one morning after class. Nice enough guy, I thought. He always paid attention to my lectures and everything, and his midterm paper had been absolutely brilliant. I was actually planning on talking to him about having it published. Anyway, he came to my office after class, claiming to have a question, something about the differences between ancient sexuality and Victorian sensibilities, or something. Well, his only real question seems to have been about what kind of panties I was wearing, 'cause the little creep jumped me!"

She paused for dramatic effect. Sam looked concerned. Dean appeared to have gotten stuck somewhere between Sexuality in the Ancient World and the mention of panties. Typical. "Well," she continued, "I couldn't help but notice that the guy's eyes were pitch black. That scared me almost as bad as the fact that this full-grown man was attacking me in my own office in broad daylight. I managed to escape, and ran straight to my priest. I may not have believed in ghosts and vampires at the time, but I had put in enough years in the Catholic church to know a fucking demon when I saw one. I was lucky. Father Flannigan, unlike the vast majority of clergy, not only believed me, he knew what to do. He had me take him to the guy's apartment, and we exorcised that demon's sorry ass right back to hell. The poor student, Geoff was his name, was absolutely horrified, not to mention scared shitless. He'd been aware of what the demon was doing the whole time, couldn't stop apologizing to me. Fortunately, I was his first target, so the demon didn't manage to do any serious harm before we got rid of him.

"Father Flannigan tried his best to leave me in the dark and send me away with as few answers as possible. But I was having none of that. I made him tell me everything he knew about demons. I was pissed, and I wanted to know what to do, on the off chance that something like that might happen to me, or to someone I loved, again. In the end, he told me the whole awful story. Not just about demons, but about everything else that you boys hunt, too. I was horrified. But I was also determined. There was no way I could sit my ass in Durham day after day teaching Greek and Latin while I knew that there were creatures running loose in the world harming innocent people. I couldn't sleep at night. So, I took what I learned from my own studies and what I gleaned from Father Flannigan, and I headed out. To hunt.

"It was rough. I had no fucking clue what I was doing, and I should have been dead a lot of times over by now. It was sheer dumb luck that I stumbled across this place after only six months on the road. I'm not particularly good at hunting, and I know it. Ellen was nice enough to let me work here, so I can at least support those who fight the good fight. I lied and told her I'd been hunting for years, but she saw right through me. I was way more beat-up than any seasoned hunter should have been after only a couple of angry spirits and a small wendigo. So, she lets me keep bar here, and I help out with research stuff when hunters passing through need it, 'cause that's what I'm good at. I've been here three months now. Came aboard just after she re-opened. And that's how I ended up here. Sitting with you two at a bar in Nebraska full of hunters of the paranormal."

Sam was the first to speak. "Wow," he commented. "I can't think of a single woman I know who would have dropped everything she knew to come and deal with this stuff on a daily basis."

She laughed softly. "I can't think of a single guy who wouldn't think I was a complete nut for doing it."

"Actually, the jury's still out on whether you're nuts or not," Dean commented.

Before she could respond, a hunter called from across the room, "Hey, Leila, you wanna get your ass over here and refresh my drink?"

"Hey, Henry," she retorted, "how's about you keep your mind on your pool game and off my ass?" She turned back to the Winchesters. "I'll be right back." She headed off to take Henry another beer, trying hard not to feel the burn of two pairs of Winchester eyes on her backside. Stay cool, babe. You've put a lot of work into making that ass look awesome, and these jeans are only helping. Don't run, and don't look back. Ignore them, ignore them, ignore them. She finally reached Henry and replaced his empty beer bottle with a full one. As she turned to go back to the bar, Henry smacked her sharply on the ass. I knew there was a reason I hated this guy. Her eyes narrowed, and she turned back to face him. In a deceptively calm voice, she warned, "That was your one freebie, Henry. Don't let it happen again, or bad things might happen to you." He just smirked. When she turned to walk away for a second time, he grabbed her bottom again. She stopped and shook her head, Sam and Dean forgotten for the moment. Ohhh, this is gonna hurt. She whipped around, and punched the man in the eye before he had time to react. It helped that the man was on his seventh beer of the evening and wasn't expecting a girl almost a foot shorter than him and half his weight to deck him with all her strength. The punch made him think twice, but it was nowhere near enough to put him down, so she followed up with a swift kick to the family jewels. That did put him down. He sank to his knees, holding his crotch. She stepped back out of his reach and crossed her arms. "There now, Henry. How do you like it when someone touches you in an inappropriate manner?" She turned on her heel and stalked back to the bar, fuming, her hand feeling damn near broken. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, is that fucker's eye socket made of concrete or something?! Guess that's what my five-foot-one, hundred-and-three pound ass gets for punching a guy built like a damn brick wall.

The fact that Dean was looking at her with a new appreciation when she returned to the bar almost made the pain shooting up her right arm worth it. Almost.

"Got a bit of a temper there, have you?" he asked, amused.

"I dislike being touched without permission. I might work in a bar, but I've got the same rights to my own personal autonomy as anyone else, okay?"

"Whoa, there," he said quickly, raising his hands in placation. "I was just making a simple observation. Looked to me like that clown got exactly what was coming to him. For a girl who claims to have been a bad hunter, though, you sure pack one hell of a punch."

"Yeah, well, it's easy enough to punch a drunk who didn't see it coming, especially when he's corporeal. That shit doesn't so much work on the poltergeists, though."

Sam laughed. "That's for damn sure." He quickly drained his beer, then stood. "I'm turning in, guys. Good meeting you, Leila. See you tomorrow?"

"I'll be right here."

He headed off toward his and Dean's room, leaving Leila alone with his brother. And now the real fun begins.

For the next several hours, Leila and Dean talked. Actually, he made her do most of the talking. She told him about her family, how her parents had been killed when a tornado destroyed their house when she was just a baby. She had been found, miraculously unharmed, and her maternal grandmother had raised her. The woman had been old as dirt when she took custody of Leila, and had lasted just long enough to see her grandchild graduate from college before succumbing to the call of mortality in her sleep one night.

She had grown up on a farm in rural Alabama. Her first pet had been a cow whose mother had died while giving birth, so she had raised it, bottle-fed it, and cried like a baby when it was sent off to the stockyard. She had loved singing for as long as she could remember, and had sung in choir throughout college. She loved all kinds of music, and would sing along to country, pop, rock, show tunes, and occasionally even opera. She loved to knit and never wore anything in the winter except sweaters she had made herself. Her favorite dessert was chocolate cake, and she baked an excellent one. It was about the only thing she could bake, other than cornbread, and she had only learned to make it so that she would have an excuse to buy a stand mixer. She was an excellent cook though, had learned from her Granny, who made the best gumbo east of Louisiana. Before she took up hunting, she had watched a lot of television and movies, and she loved brainless romantic comedies and silly sitcoms. She loved to read, especially Victorian-era novels. Jane Austen was her favorite author. She loved fresh flowers, especially stargazer lilies, and had been considering adding a greenhouse on the grounds of the farm, which had passed to her when her grandmother died. She'd given up on that idea and sold the farm, though, when she had decided to go out on the road. Now, she didn't have a home other than Harvelle's Roadhouse, and everything she owned could be packed and tossed into the back of her Jeep within three minutes.

By the time she ran out of things to talk about, it was four in the morning and the roadhouse was empty save the two of them and the empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the bar between them.

He helped her wipe down the tables and stack the chairs for the night. "How long do you suppose you'll stay in town?" she asked as they worked.

"Oh, I dunno. I was thinking just a couple of days, but we've got nowhere urgent to get to just now. We can stay awhile." She nodded. "Besides," he continued with a smirk, "I think Sammy'll want to stay here with you as long as he can. Not everyday he meets a hot chick that's as smart as him." Fuck. Come on Dean, don't get too stuck on the idea of me and Sam. Not gonna happen.

"Oh, I daresay Sam's a great deal smarter than me. And did you just call me a 'hot chick,' Dean Winchester? You better be glad I'm not a feminist, or I'd have to hurt you for that one."

"Hurt me? Darlin', I'm not near as drunk as old Henry. I sincerely doubt you could take me."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Hey, you started it, but sure, if you wanna try me, come on."

The words had barely left his mouth before she launched herself at him, catching him off guard. The element of surprise was always her best weapon. She managed to throw him off balance, but he didn't fall, just stepped back and kicked her legs out from under her. Unlike him, she hit the ground in a graceless heap and immediately found herself pinned under Dean, his legs straddling her thighs, his hands trapping her forearms against the floor. "Well, damn," she breathed. "Guess it's a good thing I gave up hunting, huh?"

"Yeah," he smirked. "Good thing."

She felt fairly certain that he was cognizant of the implications of the position in which he had her fastened to the ground, but she wiggled her hips against him, just to back sure, then said casually, "Now that you've kicked my ass, you wanna let me up so I can finish my job, darlin'?" His eyelids had dropped halfway upon her movement and she felt a suspicious pressure against her left thigh. But after a moment, he opened his amazing hazel green eyes and stared into hers. She swallowed hard and made a conscious effort not to raise her head toward his to kiss him. For a little while, time seemed to stand still, and she found herself wondering if he was going to kiss her instead. But then the moment passed and he hopped to his feet before reaching down to pull her upright.

"You're blushing," he informed her.

"I most certainly am not," she snapped, irrationally angry at him for almost making her deviate from The Plan. Leila, it's not time for kissing, not yet. You've got to get the hell away from this man before you become the latest in a long string of pathetic one-night stands. Straightening her clothes, she quickly finished stacking the chairs and walked toward her bedroom. "Well, Dean, I guess I'll see you tomorrow. G'night." She walked into her room and shut the door behind her before he had time to respond. Well, he's definitely interested. He might be the infallible Dean Winchester, but I've got my Plan, and I'm thinkin' if I give him a little more rope, he just might hang himself before the week's out.