Readers,

I hope you are all enjoying this so far! Thanks for reading!

XOXO Ally Layne.

5: Hurricanes and Heroes

Persie sat in the back of the Impala as Dean drove up to a parking space just in front of the bar that Richie had told them about. She looked down and stared at the shorts she had cut from a pair of her jeans that was mutilated by a monster a year ago and the t-shirt Annabeth had gotten her from Athens.

She was definitely out of place, here.

There were dozens of women dressed in short-cropped skirts and shorts, tank-tops, or other types of shirts showing their cleavage, and most of them had their hair down and let it all hang out for the men to gaze upon.

Persie definitely was not dressed like she was about to go bar hopping in Vegas, not that she'd ever done that in the first place. But these women looked ready for a night of fun, and the demigoddess was not feeling the same way.

Her own hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she twisted the end around her right pointer finger nervously as the boys got out of the Impala with their jaws hanging loose and eyes wide at the sight in front of them.

"I thought you said this was some boarded-up factory town?" She heard Dean voice, who's gaze was following a flock of women giving him the "come get me" eyes.

Sam let out a cough as he looked at the ladies surrounding them, too. "It is," he insisted. "Or, at least, it's supposed to be."

Persie rolled her eyes at the smirk that slowly spread across Dean's face. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's do some research."

She let out a groan as Dean started to walk around, eyeing every woman that came close enough for him to get a good look at. Sam slowed so he could walk at her side, which was nice but definitely not necessary. "You good?"

"Of course, Sammy," she said. "I'm not dressed to impress so I'm not too worried about a guy getting too handsy."

His eyebrows raised. "That's not what I meant."

She blinked, and nodded her thanks as he held the door open for her to walk into the bar. "Then what did you mean?"

"Well, it's just that I know my brother is being a bit much with all of these women and sometimes-"

"Sammy, Princess, get over here!"

Sam and Persie looked over to see Dean standing with none other than Richie himself, who was posing in a new shirt that definitely screamed New Jersey to the demigod.

Eventually, after having to avoid moving bodies and boobs pressing into Persie's back from being too closely packed in the bar, they made it over to the two men. "Hey." Richie nodded to them, though stopped to give Persie a once-over. "And hello to you, sweets."

Persie rolled her eyes and looked away from the man, not noticing the nasty look Dean gave Richie for that comment. Sam felt a small smile start to tug on his lips. Something interesting was cooking between the two of them, and he was probably the only one who could see it.

"Bringing satin back?" Dean gruffly asked, still eying the other man warily for how his eyes never left the demigod. "And she's not a prostitute so keep your hands off of her."

Persie blinked at the sudden shift. "And I don't need you telling guys to stick away from me," she told Dean, poking him in the chest. "I'm the one who calls the shots when the shots are about me."

He grimaced.

"Well I was right, you are a firecracker," Richie commented, laughing. "Don't worry, I got somethin' cooked up for later. Doesn't mean I can't admire a fine woman when I see one."

Persie grinned. "Admire away. Gods know I do it plenty."

Dean stiffened, crossing his arms. "So, what's this shirt all about, Richie? Tryna impress some girls with your satiny drapes?" He mocked.

Richie smiled wider. "Oh, you like this? Try Thai Silk, Canal Street." He held up the shirt slightly. "You have to pay $300 for threads like these, easy. Cost to me…" He shrugged. "Fuggedaboutit."

Persie winced at the strong accent, and Sam let out a chuckle. "How much is fuggedaboutit?"

"Ah, forget about it," Richie said, something in the corner catching his eye. "That's Trotter over there. He sits there all night. Can't touch him."

Her eyes narrowed in on the older man that Richie was pointing out. He was dressed in a suit that easily looked higher end, and she only knew that from spending time with some Aphrodite kids. His eyes were raking over the crowds, watching as his monopoly was being put to use and making him even more money.

Besides that, nothing about him made her uneasy. She obviously wouldn't trust the guy, but nothing in her gut screamed danger. Persie had grown to trust her gut instincts, and her instincts were giving her nothing about him.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to do a little investigating with that bartender," Dean said, taking Persie out of her thoughts.

"What?" Persie blinked, looking at Dean with slight annoyance. Of course, he would go make some moves on the bartender.

She looked over at the woman working behind the bar, and an uneasy feeling settled into her stomach. Must be a delayed reaction to Trotter, or maybe they were thinking about this all wrong.

"Easy," Richie's voice cut over. "Me and Casey, we got a little somethin' somethin' lined up for later."

"Yeah, right," Dean scoffed.

Persie raised a brow. There is no way Richie had that much game.

"Stings, don't it?" Richie laughed before getting up. "Alright, I gotta hit the head. Release the hostages. Be back in a few."

They watched him walk back toward the bartender. Dean let out another huff. "No way he gets a girl like that. I mean, look at her. You could fit that ass on a nickel."

"You think so?"

Her palm smacked her face in sheer second-hand embarrassment.

Father Gil was sitting to the side of them, raised brows and a knowing quirk on his lips in all his Fatherly finery. Persie nearly started laughing at the shock that vibrated off of Sam and Dean, who still looked at the newcomer with wide eyes.

"Oh," Dean said, at least looking somewhat ashamed, "Sorry Padre."

"Knew you'd find your way here," Father Gil let out a sigh. "They all do."

"No offense, but what are you doing here, Father?" Sam asked, stuttering through his words. Persie had to hold in the snicker that nearly came out.

"Like it or not, you go where your flock is," Father Gil said. Persie could see the offense in his eyes from the slight accusation.

It was then that the bartender, Casey, made her way over to them and started to pour the Father a drink. "Plus, the clergy drinks for free."

"True," he admitted. "And a certain bartender owes me a confession."

Casey laughed, sickening the pit in Persie's stomach. Okay, she definitely had a bad feeling. "Not in this lifetime, Father."

"I better see your butt on Sunday," Father Gil told her, finishing his drink and standing up from his spot at the bar. He leaned into Dean. "Nickel or no nickel."

"What can I get you guys?" Casey asked, turning back to them.

Dean leaned in and took a full view of her figure, making Persie once again roll her eyes in distaste. "What's your specialty?"

Casey smirked, leaning in as well. "I make a mean hurricane."

"I guess we'll see about that," he said, letting a smirk fall on his face.

Persie grumbled and took a few steps to the side with crossed arms. "I can make a mean hurricane, too," she muttered to herself, before turning to go find a seat. She didn't want to sit at the bar and have a front-row view of Dean flirting with that bartender.

She ended up moving to the side, as there were no other seats available and she didn't feel like making friends with another group. Persie leaned up against the wall and crossed her arms before looking down at her feet and feeling very out of place with her worn-out converse.

Her gut clenched, and she looked up. A man, mid-thirties, walked in the bar with a dazed look on his face. She's seen that before. Grief.

And grief can do a bad thing to a man. Or, rather, grief can make a good man do bad things.

She kept an eye on him as her gaze shifted back to the bar where Dean was still flirting away. Hopefully, she doesn't have to deal with that for too long, didn't Richie say-

A flash of silver caught her eyes. That man had a gun.

Persie immediately ran into action, yelling for the man across the pool table from the gunman to get down, and luckily her call seemed to stop the shooter and make him look in her direction. Shit.

He looked back across the table to see the other man was hiding somewhere else, and Persie took a few more steps in his distraction to level him to the ground in a perfect tackle. She wrenched his wrist to free the gun from his hand and flung him onto his back.

"Who are you?" She yelled in his face, but at the look in his face, she knew this man was no demon. He was grieving.

"I-I… wha-"

Water came splashing over her shoulder, and for a moment she wondered if she had lost control of her powers. But at the sound of Dean's gruff voice ask if she was okay, she realized that it was holy water that was spilling down the man's face.

"What the hell?"

She looked at Sam. "He's human, Sammy."

"He slept with my wife!" The man underneath her started to cry out, wriggling beneath her hold. "That bastard slept with my wife!"

A fist went flying and knocked him out cold. It took only a second for her to realize it was her fist. Good riddance.

She moved off of him, taking the gun off the ground and took the bullets out just how Uncle B had shown her how to do it back in Sioux Falls.

"Okay, Princess, want to tell us how you did that?" Dean asked as the cops started to file in, and took the unconscious man off in handcuffs. "How the hell did you move so fast?"

Persie shrugged. "Demigod stuff."

He nodded, and she watched as he started to come to terms with what happened. "Why would you just tackle him to the ground like that? Or yell? He was going to shoot you-"

"But he didn't," Persie reminded the older Winchester. "He turned away-"

"And if you had just been one second too late you'd be laid out on the ground, dead! How would I be able to tell that to Bobby, huh? That his niece got herself killed?"

She crossed her arms. "I wasn't late. He didn't shoot me, as a matter of fact, he didn't shoot anyone."

Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Maybe we should take this conversation somewhere else-"

"Maybe she should admit that she shouldn't be tackling insane men to the ground when they're pointing a gun at her," Dean growled.

Persie glared at him. "First of all, he didn't point that gun at me. Second of all, that's not the first time I had to do something like that, and it will not be the last. Third of all, you need to accept that I'm not some sort of girl who can't defend herself! I've saved the world plenty of times, thank you very much. I can handle a crazy guy who's pissed that his friend slept with his wife!"

Dean glared at her but didn't dare say anything else.

"C'mon you guys, let's get out of here before the cops start asking questions."

Luckily, neither Persie nor Dean were in the mood for fighting any longer and decided to follow Sam's lead. A small part of her wondered if Dean really liked that hurricane. What might he think of her own?

But then again, if her speed is one thing to spook him, what might he say if he saw her actually unleash her powers? Would he call her a monster? Would he think less of her?

She doubted he thought much of her, to begin with. There's nothing good that could come out of a hunter and a demigod. Nothing good at all.

The next day, the trio was back at the bar and eating some food. None of them had heard anything from Richie, and Persie could tell that Dean was getting nervous.

"How many times I got to tell Richie, he's gonna get himself in trouble?" Dean asked himself, snapping his phone shut after another unanswered call.

"Dean you're assuming he's missing," Sam said. "I mean, maybe he just bailed."

Persie picked at her fries lazily. "Or maybe he's dead meat," she muttered, stopping shortly after seeing Dean's annoyed face in front of her. "What? He was prancing around and strutting his stuff so much I wouldn't be surprised if he did find trouble."

"Don't have to say it that way," Dean told her before taking a large bite of his burger.

Persie shrugged. "You warned him, hotshot. There's not much anyone could do after that."

Dean glared. "How nice. It's like you're hoping he's gone." He turned to Sam. "And Richie wouldn't just bail. He's a moron, he's a sweet moron, but he's not a coward." Dean's gaze snapped back to Persie. "Unlike one of you."

She sighed. "I'm not going to sit here and give you false hope. If he didn't turn up, maybe it's because he couldn't." She ran her hands through her hair that now hung loosely around her shoulders. "Look, I could ask someone to see if he crossed over-"

"I'm going to go find him," Dean cut her off, grabbing his things. His glare never weakened.

"Alright," Sam sighed, keeping his mouth shut at the tension between the two others. "Meanwhile, I think I'm going to trail this Trotter guy."

"Yeah?"

Persie ran another hand through her hair. "Look, Sam-"

"There was something weird about the way he looked at me last night," he insisted. "Maybe there is something going on around here."

"I don't think it has anything to do with Trotter, though," Persie objected. "There was nothing different about him when I checked him out-"

"Oh, so you're checking out old guys, now?" Dean mocked.

She let out a groan. "All I'm saying is that he seemed normal, okay? Nothing weird going on with him. My gut instincts didn't flare up, and-"

"What, your spidey senses didn't tingle? C'mon, Princess. Stop playing around and let us do our work."

Persie looked at Dean incredulously. "And what am I supposed to do?"

"Not hunt with us, that's for sure," he spat. "You're only going to get us killed."

She watched as the brothers left the bar, and scoffed when Sam shot her puppy eyes that were supposed to show how sorry he was. But blood apparently stuck with blood. That's how it's always been.

Blood sticks with blood, huh?

Persie pulled out her phone.

She had some work to do.