In stressful times like these, Dean hummed music to himself. Normally it was something by Metallica or Zeppelin, but really, any song was fine. As long as it was something he knew he hummed it, and it always cleared his head and calmed him down. But now, however, while he watched Bela struggle to breathe as a thick arm constricted around her neck and as the barrel of a Glock dug harshly into her temple, Dean forgot every song in the goddamned world.
"I'm Dean Winchester," he said, suddenly remembering that Bela's captor had asked him a question. He clenched his fists at his sides, trying his best not to lunge out and clock the bastard across the jaw, because he knew that that would only end up with Bela receiving a bullet to the brain—and he was not going to let her die here, even if it was the last thing he did.
"Alright, Dean," The guy smiled, nodding. "Let's make it fair. I'm Luke."
"I'd say 'it's nice to meet you,' but I'm trying this new thing where I try my best not to lie," Dean smirked, earning an appreciative chuckle out of the man standing across from him.
"I like you already. Bela, between me, this guy and your cat, you really do keep great company," Luke grinned, breathing down her neck. She attempted to turn her head away from him, but was unable to do so as his arm squeezed tighter around her throat. Instead, she let out a strangled gasp for air, and Dean took an alarmed step forward.
"Nuh-uh, not so fast, buddy," Luke added, waving his gun in a warning motion. "I may like you, but no sudden movements. And do me a favor and kick your weapon over here, huh?"
Dean clenched his jaw but did what he was told nonetheless, watching his pearl-gripped pistol slide across the hardwood floor and stopping at Luke, who swept it to the side with one of his feet. He swallowed to himself—without that gun, he was going to have to handle this the hard way.
"Don't look so glum, man," Luke said as he saw the expression on Dean's face, "No one has to die here, meaning that you're not going to need that little pistol for any type of self-defense. I just want what's owed to me."
Dean looked at him, clenching his jaw as he struggled to keep his patience. "And what exactly is owed to you?" he asked, trying his best to maintain the coolness in his voice.
"Something worthy of replacing what this bitch"—at this, Luke bore his teeth and twisted the gun bitterly into the side of Bela's head, causing Dean to twitch with fury—"promised me months ago, but failed to give. Instead, she burned the damn thing, which, for the life of me, I can't seem to figure out why."
Realizing what he was rambling on about, a smile slowly spread across Dean's face. "You mean the rabbit's foot?"
Luke's eyes flicked to him. "How do you know about that?"
Bela's eyes immediately widened as Dean smirked smugly—if Luke found out that Dean had had any connection to the destroying of the foot, he was as good as dead. And even if he was going to be so within a few months anyway, she did not want him to die like this. She did not want him to die trying to save her, the selfless bastard that he was.
But before she could think of a way to stop him, even if there was a way to stop him, Dean's smirk deepened and he inched ever-so-slightly forward. Fortunately, Luke didn't catch the movement, and instead began to shake with fury as Dean said, "Because I helped her do it. In fact, it was my idea. I'm sure the raccoons pissed all over the ashes."
As Dean grinned amusingly to himself, he took another confident step forward, one that Luke was sure to notice. Sure enough, Luke let out a growl and removed the gun from Bela's head, pointing it directly at the center of Dean's chest.
"Stay back, you son-of-a—" Luke began to grit out through clenched teeth, but before he could finish the sentence Dean connected his knuckles with the inside of his wrist, moving incredibly fast and sending the gun clattering to the ground. However, Dean hesitated between making a dive for the weapon or staying and continuing to fight hand-to-hand, and Luke took this as an opportunity to connect his own fist with Dean's cheekbone, causing him to stumble backwards with a stifled groan.
Still, Dean quickly recovered, ignoring the thick throbbing in his cheek before stepping forward and ducking under another one of Luke's punches. He then wrapped his arms around Luke's waist and rammed forward until the sound of his spine connecting with the corner of a nearby table filled Dean's ears and Luke let out a guttural groan as the pain shot up his back. Dean made a move to punch him in the gut, but Luke smacked his arm away at the last second and pushed him back, trying to provide himself with some time to recuperate just enough to keep fighting.
Dean swerved around a half-hearted swing and clocked his opponent on the side of his jaw before attempting to follow up with a sharp kick to the knee. However, Luke sidestepped this move at the last second, instead landing a solid uppercut to Dean's midsection, causing him to bend at the waist as the momentum caught him. Before he could recover, Luke grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and brought him up to his feet, pushing him back until he had him pinned up to the wall.
A sinister smile crossed over Luke's face as he enclosed his grubby hands around Dean's neck. "Not bad, Winchester," he growled as Dean's vision rapidly clouded with stars and blotches of black, "Almost had me there."
A sharp crack joined the heartbeat echoing in Dean's ears and he thought that his windpipe might have been crushed, but then Luke's hands became slack around his neck and gravity suddenly slid his body down the wall. He sucked in a large gasp of air as his vision slowly returned to normal, and soon he was looking up at Bela, who had a deep scowl etched on her face and his pearl-gripped Colt clasped firmly in her hands. He then realized that she wasn't scowling at him but rather at Luke's now-limp body, a deep red gash oozing blood on the back of his head.
As Dean struggled to regulate his breathing, Bela bent down in front of him, dropping the gun to the floor to cup his face.
"Dean, are you okay?" She asked, concern now sprawled all over her face instead of a scowl. Finding it difficult to talk, Dean instead nodded in affirmation. "Can you stand?"
Again he nodded and Bela helped bring him up to his feet. She then assisted him over to the couch where he braced a hand on the back so she didn't have to hold him anymore, but her hands hovered over him just in case his legs suddenly gave in under his weight. He was feeling insanely light-headed and his vision blurred in-and-out, but his breathing was starting to become more normal and soon he was sucking in steady deep breaths through parted lips, before smiling in amusement as he took in the situation around him.
Bela frowned. "What?"
"It's just kind of ironic," he said slowly, his throat protesting against the friction from his vocal chords. "Only weeks ago I was the one saving you from getting choked to death."
A small smile formed on Bela's mouth, but then she bit her lip and looked away. They weren't supposed to be settling back into conversation this easily—they hadn't spoken in over two weeks. So, instead, she took a half-step away from him and glanced over at Luke's body.
"We're going to have to take care of him," she said, avoiding eye contact with Dean.
He swallowed, noticing her hesitation. "Is he dead?"
"I don't think so," she answered. "Just knocked out, but he's bound to come back after me soon if we just drop him off somewhere."
Dean nodded in agreement. He looked around the apartment for a while, trying to come up with ideas, before his eyes landed on the black Glock that had been tossed to the side in the midst of his and Luke's fight.
The corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smile. "I have an idea."
After Dean managed to recover most of the strength in his body, he hauled Luke's unconscious form up to his feet, swinging one of his limp arms over his shoulders before instructing Bela to retrieve the Glock and follow him out the door. They snuck downstairs, managing to avoid any curious citizens, and then used a set of keys from Luke's pocket to find his car among the others in the parking garage.
They dragged his body over to a parked, four-door sports car the color of egg yolk, and after Bela opened the rear door, Dean carelessly tossed Luke into the backseat. After this, Dean walked over to the back of the car and popped open the trunk, smiling triumphantly to himself as he and Bela peered at the contents inside.
An array of weapons lay sprawled about, including a few bags of what looked to be cocaine stashed in the corner as well as—to which Bela frowned in disgust—a good portion of porno magazines stacked and shoved to the side. After looking over at the trunk's subjects, the two then climbed into the car, with Dean in the driver's seat and Bela in the passenger's, respectively. Not long after that they were pulling out of the garage and driving off towards an unspecified location.
Neither of them spoke as they drove. The only sounds coming from inside the car were of each other's breathing and the occasional groan Luke emitted from the back. Bela fidgeted with her fingers as she forced herself not to look at Dean, lest she wanted all the emotions from the past two weeks flooding back into her body, and instead she steadied her gaze out the window. Soon they were parking into a deserted lot and getting out of the car, with Dean pulling his cellphone out of his pocket as they headed to a gas station across the street.
He made two phone calls. The first one was to a taxi company, where he requested a cab to their location. The second one was to the local police department, where he left an anonymous tip about a suspicious car parked in an empty lot, telling them that he may or may not have seen a body slumped over in the backseat. A few minutes later, just as the cops were sliding into the lot and getting out of their cars to inspect Luke's own vehicle, Bela and Dean were driving away from the scene in the backseat of a yellow cab, watching with satisfied expressions on their faces.
When they got back to the apartment, Bela began cleaning up the mess that Dean and Luke had made in their fight, straightening her furniture before taking a washcloth to the small stain of blood that had formed after she had clocked Luke in the back of the head with the Colt. Dean also bent down to pick up the gun, wiping away the blood with a napkin before tucking it back behind the waistband of his jeans. After this, the two of them stood awkwardly across from one another, avoiding eye contact and unsure of what to say to each other.
However, the silence soon got to Bela, and before she realized it she was frowning and struggling to hold back a new stream of tears. Her shaky voice cutting through the silence forced Dean to look at her, and when he did, her lip was trembling.
"Why did you come here?" she suddenly asked, hands shaking. "Why did you come back?"
Dean couldn't bring himself to look her in the eyes. "Well, I came here to drop off the stuff you left in my car back in North Dakota…." His voice, which was low and hesitant, trailed off. "But truthfully, I was just looking for a reason to come see you."
Bela stared at him, her hands shaking furiously at her sides. By now, the tears were falling again and she didn't know whether to feel happy that he cared so much about her or angry for that very same reason, because it certainly did not push her in the direction of getting over him, rather than spiraling further down into the hole she had dug herself into over the past two weeks. As she hesitated to respond, choking on her tears and struggling to form words with the anger coursing through her body, Dean instinctively stepped forward and moved to wrap his arms around her.
Bela frowned, trying to step back. "No, get off of me—" she said through clenched teeth and as she twisted in his grip, beating her fists on his chest and arms as he held her tightly against him, his face buried in her shoulder. She soon gave up on fighting back; however, as she let out a choked sob and her hot tears began to fall harder until she could no longer see anything but blurred colors and objects before her.
"I'm sorry, Bela," Dean was saying into her shirt, "I'm so, so sorry."
He kept repeating the words to her as her body convulsed against him, and soon she wasn't making any more noises. The tears just silently fell as she stared blankly ahead, completely numb and senseless to what was going on around her as a million thoughts reeled through her mind. None of this was fair. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with a soon-to-be dead man. In fact, he wasn't even supposed to die. They should have been two normal people that were totally oblivious to demons and deals and supernatural items and creatures, because if that was the case, then maybe they would have been able to live a happy life together, without all this damage and heartbreak. But then she shelved this thought aside, because she knew that if that was the case, then there would probably be no way in hell that the two of them would ever meet, and also because she didn't know what thought hurt more—living a life never knowing Dean Winchester ever existed, or living a life knowing, loving and subsequently, losing him.