Maiden Fair

[afwolff]

Title: Maiden Fair
Genre: Roswell/Supernatural Crossover
Pairing: Drifter
Series: Kingdom Come
Rating: M
Spoilers: All of Roswell; First Episode of Supernatural
Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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The grass was thin, crackling beneath Dean’s feet. Broken, the sound of brittle bones and discarded lives. Another day. Another job. Another life saved. It almost made him giddy.

Well, giddy if you discounted the mind-numbing drone of belated fear and anxiety roaring through his veins. Death was always a possibility, immanent, and not just his. There were three of them. Three people to watch out for, care about, and worry over. Three. Much more complicated than one.

It was his purpose, his reason for living to protect those that couldn’t protect themselves, wouldn’t believe that the supernatural existed. In it, he wasn’t alone. He had a brother, a father-lost somewhere in the realm of unreality. The lifestyle wasn’t perfect, didn’t make his heart flutter with joy, but he was accustomed to it, content. Or had been.

That had changed. Another facet added. Disrupted. A thought wriggled in the back of his brain-transient, uncertain. For the first time, he had a suspicion there might be more to life than executing the things that go bump in the night. Something more than the heat of battle, more than a romp in the sack with a pretty girl, more than a cold beer and big, bloody slab of beef. Just…more.

Dean rolled his eyes, tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. When had he become so sensational, so given to the dramatic? Never. He saw everything as it was-real, not veiled by mystery or intrigue, mythology or lies. He did his duty, killed, and took his pleasures where he could find them. A protector of the masses. A soldier of no army. A hunter. A predator. Deadly. Efficient. Solitary.

When had it changed? That was a no-brainer-the moment Liz had entered his life with her tight little body and her mind-blowing orgasms. Oh, sure, it had started well before then, that niggling awareness that there might be more for him in the wide, spinning Earth, but that was the defining moment, the coup de grace. One woman, one dark-haired vixen had been his salvation.

Or was that his damnation?

Voices ahead-male, female, his compatriots, his fellow drifters, his family. It was strained, exasperated, obviously a disagreement of some kind. Liz the magnificent-sharp of tongue, quick of wit, goddess between the sheets. Sam the champion-fast of feet and hands, commiserate of the weak and oppressed, savior of the spiritually be-riddled. With him, they made up the modern day Ghostbusters.

Who you gonna call? Team Winchester. Buh-dun-dun-duh.

Curious. Dean cocked his head to the side, studied the figures partially hidden behind a glossy black door. Liz and Sam rarely bickered, hardly shared frivolous talk, seemed to have an immediate understanding of each other. It was strange and comforting the ease in which they’d settled into their daily lives. Almost as if the three of them were destined to meet and share a road, a car, breathing room, and a chest of weapons.

They quit bickering when Dean joined them, each casting him a wary eye. He propped his shoulder against the side of the car and watched them. Analytical, penetrating, he was still awed by all his tiny girlfriend could do. A woman of many trades-lover, scientist, librarian, researcher, doctor. Boundless, completely willing to learn, she’d absorbed their father’s journal in less than three days, quoted it religiously at each hunting trip. Serious, always aware of the danger, always ready to risk her life for theirs and every stranger they encountered. She was amazing.

And incredibly, painfully, bone-jarringly sexy. Especially with crinkled eyebrows and lip gently clamped between her teeth. Intent. Studious. All she needed was a pair of wire frames, a bun, and a pencil tucked behind her ear and one of his fantasies would soar to life. Prim and proper librarian seduced by the rakish town hunk.

“How’s the patient? We gonna have to amputate?” Dean pried his eyes from Liz and scanned his brother, assessing damage and urgency.

A large smear of crimson stained Sam’s hamstring, a wide slash rendering a neat line through the back of his jeans. He stood facing away from Liz, his arms crossed disconsolately over his chest as he underwent her scrutiny. Liz was seated in the passenger’s side of the car, first aid kit nearby, bending over the aforementioned wound. Her fingers parted the torn denim, prodded at the ruined flesh. Medic by default; she’d had a rough few years on the road.

“Hey,” Sam interrupted. “I’m right here, you know.”

Pointedly ignoring his brother, Dean lifted an eyebrow at Liz and wiggled his fingers. “Can’t you just…?”

Sighing, Liz smirked and dropped her hands into her lap. “I could, but he won’t let me.”

Forehead crinkling, Dean observed Sam-the gash, the tension in his spine, the tightly balled fists. “Scared, little brother?”

“No.” Sam shook his head, quickly and a bit too defensively. “It’s just unnecessary.”

“Yup, scared.” Dean scratched at his head and shared a tired glance with Liz. Deep brown eyes looked back at him, into him, and he was drowning, fading from reality.

“I am not scared.”

The words were quiet, mumbled, but Dean wasn’t paying much attention. Liz’s hand had found his leg, was caressing his thigh in smooth, gentle strokes. Comforting-for both him and her. They’d had a close call that night; she’d had a close call. Seemed the ghosties had a thing for his dark, beautiful lover. They were drawn to her like buzzards to a freshly slaughtered rabbit.

Dean cradled Liz’s cheek with his hand, her soft skin a sharp contrast to his callused flesh. She moved into his touch, her lips searing his palm, flaming the small fire that burned within him. For her. For them. It was so easy to recognize, to pinpoint, to accept. Love.

“You okay?” He brushed a thumb over her jaw, felt her sigh.

Nodding, Liz eased back from Dean’s touch, peered into his eyes. “Few scratches, that’s it. Sam pushed me outta the way in time.”

It went unsaid-the fear, the terror of not knowing, of near death. They’d work through it later, in a bed, in a hotel room far from there. Warm touches, soft words, damp skin. Bodies moving, twining, fusing, writhing. Heat overwhelming, riding, driving. Erased, forgotten until the next time, the next danger. Erased and repeated, an endless cycle.

“And ended up with a hole in his leg for the effort?” He nodded, his mouth tightening with knowledge. Sam had kept Liz from harm, and, in turn, him. Dean wished he could do the same, had done the same, but the cards hadn’t played out that way.

“Pretty much.” Liz scowled, folded her arms over her chest. Angry. Irritated.

Tired of proving that she didn’t need a babysitter, Dean figured. It was one argument in which she never seemed to tire. And it was one argument that he wasn’t going to lose.

Eyes sparking, Dean spoke to Liz, his voice a low rumble. “Get used to it.”

Liz pouted, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. In his experience with females, they acted the hero, the independent woman, but every single one of them wanted a man to swoop in and save the day. And him, being the manliest of men, was well-suited for the task. Always happy to oblige any maiden fair that passed his way. He was eager, in fact, to help out the delicious, dark-haired temptress who shared his bed.

He grinned and dropped to the dirt, hunkered down to look at his brother’s leg. Liz held her tongue and helped push the material out of the way. Not a pretty sight, but the wound was clean, crisp. Still bleeding though. He shrugged, stood up.

“Remind me to thank him later.”

Tensing, Sam glowered at Dean. “I’m right here, Asshole.”

Dean returned his brother’s irritation with a cheeky smile. “Why don’t you let Liz fix you up? She’s got a wonderful bedside manner.”

If Sam’s eyes were capable of shooting death rays, Dean was certain he would have been a pile of goo at that moment. Acid. Annoyance. Dean’s gaze narrowed, his lips pressing together. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Liz had mended his broken and battered body more times than he could count. Well, not really, but often enough. Sam was familiar with the process, and more importantly, Dean thought, trusted Liz.

“I don’t think he wants me to see his ass.” Liz clucked, threw her hands in the air. “It’s not like I’m gonna cop a feel.”

The thought hadn’t crossed Dean’s mind-Liz would have to touch Sam, in a fairly intimate area. Healing was one thing, but groping his brother’s naked ass was another. “Maybe I don’t want you to see his ass.”

Lifting her eyes, rolling them slowly, Liz shook her head. Dry. Not amused. “I’m gonna have to touch his ass if I’m gonna make it better, Dean.”

Warning lights flared, but who was Dean to pay attention? “Now I really have a problem with that.” His tone grew harder, strained. “You only touch my ass.”

“Says who?” Liz stomped a foot into the ground, a small cloud of dust lifted into the air.

“Says me.” Dean motioned at his chest, pounded a finger into his breast. “The boyfriend, remember?”

“Boyfriend?” Liz scoffed, blowing out a heavy breath of air. “First I’ve heard of it.” She looked away, pretended to pick lint from her shirt. Soft. Earnest. “I thought we were just fuck buddies. No attachments, right?”

“Now, you know-“

“Excuse me?” Sam broke into the argument. “Still bleeding. Need some medical attention.”

Face never leaving Liz, Dean barked, “You’ll live.”

“He needs stitches, Dean.” Her jaws clenched, her nostrils flaring. “Since neither one of you will let me fix…him, we’re left with your Home Ec skills or a trip to the ER.”

Dean glared, upset, potentially damaging words on the tip of his tongue. He bit them back, barely. For the moment, he was freed from finishing his fight with Liz, but it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. They worked well together. Talked. Shared. Their bodies fit perfectly. Their minds a complete mating of thoughts, ideals, feelings. He loved her and was pretty damn sure she loved him. If she thought she was going to wriggle out of a commitment, she was grossly mistaken.

Liz was his lover. His confidant. His girlfriend. She wasn’t-

Oh God. Dean coughed, dropped his eyes to his feet, realization a suddenly frightening event. It wasn’t him, wasn’t by any means how he’d normally react, even think about reacting. What was he doing?-clinging to a relationship that had never been defined, one based on sex and transportation. It was so high school, so undignified, so…so girly.

Time to regain a small bit of his self-respect. “Nuh-uh, Sam’s not getting in my car. I don’t want blood all over the seats.” Yeah, that was gonna do it, talking fabrics and housekeeping. Maybe he should plan a shopping trip, buy some pink underwear.

“Way to show you care, bro.” Sam sighed, leaning more heavily into the door.

“Touchy, touchy.” It was disconcerting talking to his brother’s ass. Much more unnerving to watch his girlfriend incline towards it. “I was going to warm my hands first, but you just lost that privilege, buddy.”

“No.” Sam denied vehemently with his head. “You’re not touching me.” He shuffled a bit, feet moving in a circle. “It’s not that bad.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is-“

“Both of you: shut the hell up.” Dean’s back stiffened, electricity running up the length of his spine. She’d been pushed too far. “Dean, back off. Sam, drop your pants.”

“I’m not-“

“I said, drop your pants.”

Not one to throw himself in the way of a thoroughly irate woman-unless the payoff was body-breaking sex-Dean took a large step backwards. He’d weighed the odds, analyzed Liz’s stance and expression, had observed the muscles beneath her skin tight and corded, and had concluded that moment wasn’t the right time for his wit. Maybe it was the vein twitching at her temple or the white tint of firmly pressed lips. Whatever.

“Better listen to her, man.” Dean offered all the encouragement he possessed. He stopped caring about Liz seeing or touching Sam’s butt. Didn’t matter. Never really had. “Don’t wanna piss off the alien. She might zap your balls or something.”

The look Liz threw his way made Dean’s testicles shrivel, his penis try to crawl up into his body cavity. Scathing. Unapologetic. Warning. Fuck. Were they tingling? Was that her energy crawling across his groin? He cupped his more tender areas and retreated another step.

“Nothing against you, Liz,” Sam said. Brave. “But I’m not gonna let you do your…thing to me.”

“Why not?” Crisp. Clear. Maybe a little hurt.

Sam sighed, took a deep breath and addressed Liz. He could not meet her eyes. “It’s not necessary.”

“Said that already.” Liz frowned, her forehead wrinkling. Upset. Dean’s heart tugged; he ached to wrap her in his arms, kiss the lines away. “And I’m inclined to argue.”

“When aren’t you inclined to argue?” The words were out before he’d properly granted them permission. Stupid mouth.

Icy eyes turned on him. “Won’t be arguing about sleeping arrangements tonight.”

“Why?” He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

“’Cuz you’re sleeping in the car.”

Yup. He’d walked into that one. Deserved it, in fact.

“Well, since you guys…” Sam started to move away.

“Hold it.” Liz threw out a leg, trapping Sam between it and the car door. “Listen. It won’t take more than a few minutes and you’ll be as good as new. Not even a scar.”

“Maybe he wants a scar,” Dean pointed out. He sneered, drew his lips into a scandalous smirk. “To impress the ladies.”

Snorting, Liz tossed her head. “Scars do not impress ladies.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You’ll be doing that a lot the next coupla weeks.” She turned from him, concentrated on Sam.

Dean groaned, but a weight lifted, a smidgeon of happiness returning. Next couple weeks. She was planning on staying around, that was reassuring.

“Sam,” Dean breathed. His shoulders slumped, his body tired. “Just do it so we can get outta here. I believe our lives were threatened if we were caught here after nightfall.”

“No.” Adamant. Firm nod of head. Stubborn-just like Dean, just like their dad. Hell, just like everyone he befriended.

“Liz has good hands, Sam. Trust me.” Dean pleaded with his brother, his eyes begging for him to just give in. It wasn’t like it would hurt. It wasn’t like it would make him weak, less of a man. “Soft. Warm too. No complaints on my end. Liz-“

“It won’t hurt, Sam.” Liz touched Sam’s side, and his body froze, motionless. “I promise.”

Their eyes met-Sam entreating Liz. Confused. Fearful. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Something passed between his brother and girlfriend. Something that wasn’t quite obvious to Dean. He blinked at the pair, at Liz’s down turned face and red-stained cheeks. Strange.

“See, scared,” Dean chimed in. His lips broadened, the smile wide and contemptuous. “Really, Sam…” The grin froze, his brain finally seeing through Sam’s words. “Wait a minute.” His mouth drooped, his brow furrowing. “What?”

“Dean…”

“You don’t want Liz to heal you because its not gonna hurt?” Dean’s eyes widened, a laugh bubbling up in his chest. “Kinky.” He snorted, waggling an eyebrow at Liz. “Learn something new everyday, Little Brother.”

“Dean.”

“Wow.” His hands waved in the air, his head shaking furiously. “All this time I thought ‘Gotta be vanilla’. Went and threw a wrench right in that-“

“Dean. Shut up.” Sam glowered at Dean, his face a little too red, a little too flustered. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you-“

Liz flicked Dean annoyed, exasperated eyes. The blush that colored her cheeks deepened, a dark rouge that was very becoming on her skin. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Why would she--?

A memory chose that moment to surface: overzealous lawman, gun, bullet hole in bicep. It had been particularly painful and a trip to the hospital would have cost time and money they couldn’t afford. They’d taken the only option available-Liz had healed him. Promptly afterward they’d had sex in the back of the Impala as Sam drove them to a graveyard. They hadn’t been able to control themselves. Really. The healing was erotic, sent booty calls straight to his pleasure centers. Neither one of them had been able to resist.

“Oh.” Quiet. Subdued. Growing in intensity. “Ooooohhh. Got it.”

Dean’s cheeks flushed. For entirely different reasons than embarrassment. Naturally. He shifted, unconsciously tugging at his jeans for comfort. They were getting a little uncomfortable.

“Sam…” Liz trailed off, cleared her throat, and tried again. Not once did she look up. Not once did her hands stop shaking. “That won’t happen. I promise.”

“How do you know?” Sam asked. “You don’t seem to be able to control it with Dean.”

“S’different with Dean,” she mumbled. Her hands fidgeted, her fingers fluttering wildly against her knees. Dean leaned in, anxious to hear what she had to say. “I…I…um…do we have to talk about this? I promise that it won’t happen with you.” Pause. Deep breath. “I guarantee it.”

Damn. Careful evasion. She wouldn’t be professing her undying love to him that night. Sam looked to be softening, though, ready to let Liz have a go at his leg. That would have to do for the moment.

“Listen.” Liz touched Sam’s hand, peered up into his eyes. “You don’t have to strip, if it makes you feel better. I’ll manage.”

Nodding, Sam turned his back to Liz, his eyes pinched tightly together. She wasted no time, placed a palm over the gash. Green light spilled from her hand, bright, highly visible. Dean edged closer, blocking the glow with his body in case there was an audience. Closer, he could not see better, had no more clues as to how Liz was mending the wound. When she pulled away, the jeans were whole, the blood gone.

Body more relaxed and alert, Sam appeared to waken, shake off the pain. Bending at the knees, straightening, he spun a half circle and walked from the car. No noticeable limp. No lasting effects. Healed. Liz did good work.

“Thanks, Liz.” Warm. Cordial. Truly grateful. Sam took a few more steps, broke into a light jog. He was grinning when he returned. “Amazing.”

A pause. Silence. Liz had been content to ignore Dean-it was expected-but not her dismissal of Sam. Dean followed his brother’s gaze, found his girlfriend pale, eyes fluttering. Her body swayed, her arms dangling, unresponsive.

“Liz?”

Eyes lolling, face lax, body of the verge of collapse. Tired. Exhausted. She lurched forward, and Dean dove, not quite capturing Liz before she collided with the ground. Face first. He’d kept her from braining herself on the car door, but that was all. The hard earth took the brunt of her weight.

Dean swept a shaky hand over her brow. It came away damp, chilly. “Liz?”

No response. Out cold. Dean pulled her into his arms, found her body relatively sound and uninjured. Her eyes were closed, her breath deep and even. Sleeping.

“She okay?” Sam squatted beside them, his elbows resting on his knees.

“Think so.” Dean inhaled sharply, not at all convinced, but certain that she was not hurt…permanently. “Passed out.”

Grimacing, Dean maneuvered to his feet, Liz still folded against his chest. She’d overdone it. There were limitations to what she could do. He knew that, and so did she. Yet she’d healed Sam anyway, risked her health to make him feel better.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Sam stood, shaking his head. He studied Liz’s face, his forehead knit with concern. “If I’d known-“

“Not your fault.” Dean clenched his teeth, his jaw clicking. “Liz is a big girl. She knew exactly what she was doing. Help get her in the car.”

Nodding, Sam pulled the passenger seat forward. Dean bent at the middle and ducked his head, laying Liz across the backseat. Tiny. Vulnerable. The black interior dwarfed her. He shrugged out of his jacket and threw it across her waist.

Silently, Dean and Sam packed their weapons then loaded into the car. Music blared from the radio when Dean cranked the transmission, and he hurried to turn it down. Even though Liz had worked herself into exhaustion, he knew she hadn’t been sleeping well. Kind of hard to ignore when she tossed and turned every night. Whimpered. Muffled cries.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean kept his eyes on the road, aware that Sam was staring at him from the passenger’s seat.

“You know why she was angry?”

Breathing deep, letting the air rush through his lips. “I’m not sure.”

“Come on. Even you aren’t that dense.”

Eyes narrowing, mouth thinning, Dean stared at the road. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Fingers tapped on the door. Impatient. Anxious. “She didn’t like being called your girlfriend.”

Mouth pursed, Dean’s eyebrows melded together. Tension gripped his muscles, his hands clamping on the steering wheel until the knuckles were white. “She has issues.”

Certain, matter-of-fact. “Issues you haven’t talked about.”

“Our relationship isn’t about talking.” Redirecting. Deflecting. Dean smirked, lifted his eyebrows. Maybe Sam would just drop-

“That’s bullshit.” Of course not. Sam was a fucking terrier when he found a good chew toy. “You’re in love with her, Dean. Have you told her?”

Denial was immediate, reflexive. “I am n-“ Sam glared at Dean, his eyes tight and threatening. There would be no fooling him. Dean sighed, giving up. “No, I haven’t told her.”

“Why not?”

Dean followed the yellow center stripe, navigating the car like an automaton. “I don’t wanna have this conversation with you.”

“Too bad.” Sam ground his teeth, slapped the dashboard. “I’m not gonna let you fuck this up. You’re in love with her. Do you know how rare that is? How wonderful?”

“Wonderful?” Dean flicked his eyes to Sam. He was angry, becoming monumentally pissed. Violence swept through his body, the urge to punch his brother unconscious. At least senseless, that way he’d stop talking. “Don’t think so.”

“Damn it, Dean.” His voice broke, became raw and anguished. “I’d give anything to have Jessie back.”

As per the norm when Sam talked about Jessie, Dean’s heart clenched. He hadn’t known much about his brother’s girlfriend-just that she was a Smurf fan-but Sam had loved her, had intended to make a life with her. It was hard and unbelievable, but it was the truth. Love. A scary concept for the Winchester family. A deadly one.

“There’s one difference. Jessie loved you.”

“Liz loves you.”

Attention captured, Dean’s gaze flew to Sam, saw him staring fixedly out the window. “She tell you that?”

“Didn’t have to.” Sam turned to Dean, met his eyes and frowned. “She’s scared.”

“That’s great.” Dean focused back on the road, slamming a fist into his thigh. Perfect. Just peachy. “I finally fall in…love and the woman is scared of me.”

“No.” Pain radiated out from Dean’s shoulder. Sam had slapped him. Uncalled for, he was already hurting. “You idiot. She’s not afraid of you.” Sam’s head swung back and forth, his eyes rising skywards. “Don’t you understand?”

Apparently not. Dean pursed his lips, lifted his eyebrows. “Gonna enlighten me?”

“Maybe you really are that dense.” Muttered under his breath. Discouraged. Exasperated. “What do you know about Liz, Dean? I mean, about her life before…this.” Sam spread his arms wide indicating the car, them, the open road.

Forehead pinching, Dean raked his memory, answering in short, clipped sentences. “Saved by an alien. Granted weird powers. Chased around the countryside in a hippie van. Married-“

“For crying out loud.” Sam threw his arms in the air, banged them against the ceiling. “Don’t you get it? Max, the ex-husband. He’s the reason she’s so jumpy.”

Definitely not getting it. “So?”

“Pull over the car.”

“Why?” He risked a look at Sam, was not happy to see the strained lines on his face.

“So I can beat you.”

Was Sam serious? Eyes lit angrily. Nostrils flared. Breathing heavily. Yes. Very serious.

“No.”

“Then listen very closely.” Cutting, dangerous. “I don’t know Liz nearly as well as you, but I’ve picked up on a few things.” Sam leaned closer, his hands gripping the center console. “Max saved Liz that day in the café. From that moment on, her life revolved around him. She slept, breathed, thought Max. He consumed her. Every waking moment. Every chance he got. Max was there.”

Shrugging, Dean eased away from Sam, as far as he could move without leaving the car. “So you’re saying that she’s scared Max will find her?” He ruffled his hair, scratched his scalp. “She doesn’t have to worry about that, cuz I won’t let him take-“

“No. That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Sam threw his body backwards, collapsing against the door. His head thumped repeatedly against the window. “She’d been in a relationship with Max since she was sixteen. Her first real boyfriend, the first man she loved. That lasted eight years, Dean. In all that time, she was Max’s girlfriend, his fiancé, his wife.”

Oh. So that was what Sam was getting at. Why hadn’t he just said so? “And this is the first time she’s ever been without him, on her own terms.”

“Exactly.”

Face wrinkling, Dean mentally chastised himself. He was an idiot sometimes. “So when I said she was my girlfriend, I made her my property.”

“And…”

The smug bastard was leading him, his hands waving in encouragement. Dean willed Sam to burst into flames. “She’s not ready for that.”

Grinning, satisfied, Sam settled back into his seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes. “Good to see there’re a few brain cells shuffling around in there.”

Silence fell over them. Sam confident that he’d gotten through to Dean-which, really, he had. Dean mulling over all that his brother had said…and what he hadn’t said. That love business was so strange and new.

“So you’re saying I need to back off?”

“I’m not saying anything,” Sam answered. He stared at Dean from the corner of his eye. “All I know is that my big brother has finally fallen in love. It’s amazing. It’s awe-inspiring. Must be divine inter-“

Dean clamped his teeth together, barely moved his lips to respond. “Shut up.”

A wide, puzzling grin spread across Sam’s face. “Pull over.”

Frowning, confused, Dean glanced at his brother and back to the road. His hands tightened ever so slightly against the wheel. “I thought we’d dispensed with the beating.”

Sam nodded. “We have.”

“Then wh--?”

“You need a hug.”

“No, I don’t.”

His brother loomed closer, his smiling face a mask of insanity. “Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes…”

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The End