Vengeance Is Mine 8/?
Title: Vengeance Is Mine
Genre: gen, h/c
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence,
Characters: Sam, Dean/OFC,
Chapter word count: 2264
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I can lay no claims to the sexy boys. =( Just having fun with them.
~*~*~
He could hear Blanche and Dean talking as they crossed the yard and climbed the front steps. They must have paused on the porch because Sam could hear low voices and he craned his neck, but was unable to see them from the couch.
Then Blanche laughed and they were inside, Dean leading the way.
"Dean," Sam said immediately. "Bobby just called."
"Yeah he called me three times," Dean grunted. "I just saw the missed calls. Must not have had service out there."
Sam thought he saw a look pass between Blanche and his brother but it was gone before he could decide.
"Well? What's the creature?" Dean demanded curiously, dropping into an easy chair, arms and legs sprawling comfortably.
"Wait for me," Blanche called from the kitchen. returning momentarily with beer.
She dropped a bottle into Dean's hands, handed one to Sam and then moved his long legs off the couch so she could sit.
"Okay, go ahead," she said permissibly, crossing her legs underneath her.
Sam raised his beer toward her slightly and nodded his thanks. "It's a Rusalki," he announced and Dean's face took on a blank look.
"Never heard of it," he admitted, frowning. "So how come it's that?"
"Bobby said it has vampiric qualities, which explains the throat wounds. But it's a water spirit, which explains the water on and around the victims. And, since it's not a normal ghost -- burning its bones wont work."
Dean's frown deepened. "Then how are we supposed to kill it?" he questioned. "Lop it's head off?"
Sam shook his head. "No Dean, it's not a vampire. It just acts like one." He hesitated. "Bobby-- Bobby said that no ones actually killed one. And that if we keep her out of the water until her hair dries, she might die."
"Might die?" Dean repeated harshly. "Sam, we can't just charge in there and hope she might die. That's practically suicidal."
Sam threw up his hand in frustration. "You think I don't know that Dean? What do you want me to say? I'm just telling you what Bobby said. You got a problem with it, call him yourself."
Finishing his rant, he sat back and tilted his beer to his lips.
Dean tapped his silver ring absently against the amber bottle in his right hand. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.
Blanche gazed thoughtfully at him and as Dean met her gaze he could see the thoughts racing behind her clear gray eyes.
"What?" he asked, stilling his hand, and Sam looked up, confused at the seemingly random question, following Dean's gaze to Blanche.
She slid her legs off the couch and leaned forward, glancing between the brothers.
"You guys know that behind all that Lore and Legend there's a nugget of truth it's built on, right? Well, it may be true that no ones ever claimed to have killed a Rusalki, but why should that make a difference? I mean, why would that bit about her hair be in lore if there's not truth to it?"
Sam nodded. "That makes sense, Dean," he agreed, and Dean lowered his eyebrows and pursed his lips into his 'thinking face'.
"Makes sense," he repeated finally. "But still none of our ideas will help us, and even knowing what it is won't help us unless we figure out who the next victim is going to be. And so far we have no clue. They're just random killings."
"Seemingly random killings," Blanche corrected and Dean grunted.
"Yeah."
Sam looked weary. "Back to the homework?" he moaned and stood, pacing into the kitchen and tossing his empty bottle into the trash can. "Okay then." And he headed back up the stairs.
Blanche fixed Dean with a naughty smile and glided over to sit on his lap, kissing him deeply.
“Bad girl,” Dean murmured into her mouth, spanking her leg lightly. They could hear Sam thumping down the stairs and Blanche pulled free and danced away, sending her bottle to join Sam’s.
“I’ll get my computer too.” She passed Sam on the stairs, bestowing a flirty smile on him. He raised his eyebrows and smiled back, pausing to watch her race the rest of the way up.
When she returned he was sitting at the dining room table and Dean was flipping aimlessly through the TV channels.
“Nothing on,” he complained, sounding all of five years old as he flipped the remote dexterously in his hand.
Sam twisted in his chair and fixed Dean with and amused yet reproving look. “Um Dean? You could help us you know.”
Dean quirked an eyebrow playfully and Sam turned back to face Blanche across the table from him.
“He’s lazy,” Sam informed her in a stage whisper and she giggled. Dean winked at her across the room and she masked the sparkle in her eyes by opening her laptop.
For hours Blanche and Sam scoured the Internet. Dean moved to the couch and complained further.
They took a break for dinner and afterwards Sam moved to the easy chair, computer on his lap and Blanche took to the couch, laptop balanced on crossed legs. Dean sprawled on the floor in front of the couch, pillows underneath him and his back against the couch, head pillowed against Blanche’s leg. Every so often her fingers rest softly on his neck or played in his spiky hair. Sam saw and said nothing.
Dark had long since fallen when Sam wearily closed his laptop, turning his eyes toward the couch. Blanche's laptop was closed beside her and her leg had slipped down. Dean’s head was leaning against it and his eyes were fixed drunkenly on the television. Blanche’s were closed.
“Dean, we’re getting nowhere,” Sam mumbled, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What are we missing?” He slammed his hands frustratedly on his knees and Dean glanced over at him.
“I don’t know Sam. We’ll have another go at it in the morning. I’ll use one of your laptops and see if a fresh fair of eyes helps.”
“Jeeze Dean, now that we’ve been at it for hours,” Sam snapped grumpily and Dean stood and stretched.
“Don’t be a whiny b--" the last word was lost in a yawn and Sam felt a smile tug at his lips.
“Jerk.”
Dean stooped over Blanche and touched her shoulder, debating whether he should wake her or carry her, deciding on the former option. “Blanche wake up. Time to go to sleep.” He snorted softly at the irony and shook her gently.
Blanche’s eyelashes quivered and she slowly opened her eyes. “Dean.” She smiled sleepily and reached up to pull his head down, kissing him deeply.
Sam’s eyebrows rose and he cleared his throat. “I’ll uh, sleep on the couch,” he interrupted and Blanche pulled back.
“G’night Sam,” she said as she pushed herself unsteadily off the couch. “Whoops, can’t walk,” she giggled, sleep-drunk, and Dean smiled to himself, putting an arm around her waist.
“No I’ll sleep on the couch,” Dean responded to Sam. “You take the bed upstairs.”
“But Dean--"
The look his brother shot him shut his mouth midsentence. “Alright, I’ll sleep on the bed,” Sam relented and Dean nodded. “I’ll be right down. You wanna shower first?”
Sam shrugged. “You’re the one who stinks,” he pointed out and Dean glanced around for something to throw at him.
His little brother laughed at him but Dean turned his attention to guiding Blanche up the stairs. “Hurry up and leave me hot water,” Dean called over his shoulder and Sam made a sound of assent.
Blanche caught Dean’s hand as he turned to leave her at her door. “See you later Dean,” she whispered, slightly more awake now. She leaned in and stole a light kiss.
“Night,” Dean returned and Blanche smiled.
“See you later.” She slipped into her room and closed the door, leaving Dean staring at the chipped white paint.
Seconds later he heard her shower turn on and felt himself warming. Time to go back down stairs. He ducked into the Sam would be sleeping in and grabbed a clean pair of short and a tee shirt.
The long day was finally beginning to get him down, and he rubbed the stitches in his head, regretting it instantly. It still itched and now it burned. Not to mention his bruised ribs and the knots on his head. Dean sighed.
What a crappy day, he thought, and then corrected himself. Semi Crappy. At least one good thing had happened. He grinned at the memory and tramped slowly down the stairs, feeling the jar of each step throughout his entire body.
He took advantage of the remainder of the time Sam was in the bathroom to download all their notes onto Blanche’s computer. Maybe he’d get up early and work on it before the other two woke up. They were running out of time.
Sam opened the bathroom door and a cloud of steam poured out. Dean rolled his eyes.
“All yours.” Sam poked his head into the kitchen and Dean rose, stretching carefully.
“Kay g’night.”
“Night Dean.” Sam trudged up the stairs and Dean heard the bedroom door close above him as he turned the shower back on.
The water was still hot and he allowed his tense muscles to relax, closing his eyes and letting the hot water wash away the grime and stresses of the day.
He was rubbing down with the downy soft towel when her paused abruptly, a thoughtful look creeping over his features. What was it Blanche had said when he’d told her good night?
“See you later,” he whispered to himself. Not ‘good night’, or ‘see you tomorrow’ but ‘see you later’. Why would she have phrased it like that unless--
Dean grinned and secured his towel around his waist. He must have been too tired to catch it earlier, but her was pretty sure that was code for an up-grade in accommodations.
All was silent as Dean crept up the stairs, trying his best not to step on any creaky floorboards. Blanche’s door stood invitingly ajar and Dean slipped in, stopping inside the door.
Blanche sat waiting in the center of her bed, a soft smile on her face as she eased off the bed. “I knew you’d come sooner or later,” she teased softly and pushed the door closed behind him.
~ * ~ * ~
Tuesday, October 7th
The storm struck just after midnight and raged through the wee hours of the morning, complete with thunder and lightning - even a little hail.
Dean jerked awake and lifted his head, instantly awake and alert, his face changing expressions rapidly at the thoughts racing through his head. Blanche stirred in his arms and curled closer but Dean carefully eased himself from between the sheets and quietly padded down the stairs.
Lightning illuminated the kitchen as he grabbed Blanche’s laptop and hurried noiselessly back up to her bedroom.
She shifted again and sleepily opened one eyes as Dean crawled back into the bed and opened the laptop.
“Dean? What are you doing?” Blanche voice was thick with sleep as she pushed up on one elbow and stared drowsily at Dean.
He leaned down and kissed her, running his fingers through her hair. “Shh, just go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m just checking up on a theory.”
“Bu--”
“It couldn’t wait ‘til morning,” he assured her. “It woke me up. Just let me look at this and I promise I’ll be quick.”
Blanche smiled and curled up next to him. “G’night Dean,” she murmured and was asleep in seconds.
Dean stared intently at the laptop, the screen casting an eerie light across him as he rapidly opened the saved files he’d downloaded from Sam’s computer.
The minutes ticked by as the storm raged on, passing unheeded over the Winchester’s head as he absorbed the words on the screen.
Dean’s intake of breath was a sharp hiss as his green eyes narrowed, flicking between the open screen windows. “Son of a --” He left his harsh whisper unfinished and his lips tightened as he rolled out of the bed again, closing the computer and setting it on the dresser.
In seconds he was pulling on his jeans and dragging a gray long sleeve over his head. Phone and keys in one hand, boots in the other he crept down the stairs.
Neither Blanche nor Sam heard the Impala’s engine turn over. Both slept on, heedless of Dean’s absence.
The rain was still coming down with a vengeance when Sam awoke. His eyes came open instantly and he rolled over, glancing at his watch on the side table.
7:02.
It wasn’t even sunrise yet. He frowned, wondering what had roused him. His feet hit the floor soundlessly and he carefully drew his gun from the duffle bag on the floor.
Holding it ready, he advanced down the stairs, pausing at the corners before stepping out gun up, face tight. The house was still; the only sounds the rain dancing on the roof.
Sam finally relaxed and let his hands drop. The house was empty.
The house was empty.
He whirled and looked at the couch again. Empty. Where was Dean? He was supposed to be sleeping there.
Remembering the looks between Blanche and his brother, he relaxed slightly. Dean had probably ended up in Blanche’s bed at some point last night.
And that was when his eyes moved to the window.
It was still dark out but for an instant the lightning illuminated the yard and he saw clearly. Or rather, didn’t see. Not what he was looking for.
The Impala was gone.
Chapter 9
Genre: gen, h/c
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence,
Characters: Sam, Dean/OFC,
Chapter word count: 2264
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I can lay no claims to the sexy boys. =( Just having fun with them.
~*~*~
He could hear Blanche and Dean talking as they crossed the yard and climbed the front steps. They must have paused on the porch because Sam could hear low voices and he craned his neck, but was unable to see them from the couch.
Then Blanche laughed and they were inside, Dean leading the way.
"Dean," Sam said immediately. "Bobby just called."
"Yeah he called me three times," Dean grunted. "I just saw the missed calls. Must not have had service out there."
Sam thought he saw a look pass between Blanche and his brother but it was gone before he could decide.
"Well? What's the creature?" Dean demanded curiously, dropping into an easy chair, arms and legs sprawling comfortably.
"Wait for me," Blanche called from the kitchen. returning momentarily with beer.
She dropped a bottle into Dean's hands, handed one to Sam and then moved his long legs off the couch so she could sit.
"Okay, go ahead," she said permissibly, crossing her legs underneath her.
Sam raised his beer toward her slightly and nodded his thanks. "It's a Rusalki," he announced and Dean's face took on a blank look.
"Never heard of it," he admitted, frowning. "So how come it's that?"
"Bobby said it has vampiric qualities, which explains the throat wounds. But it's a water spirit, which explains the water on and around the victims. And, since it's not a normal ghost -- burning its bones wont work."
Dean's frown deepened. "Then how are we supposed to kill it?" he questioned. "Lop it's head off?"
Sam shook his head. "No Dean, it's not a vampire. It just acts like one." He hesitated. "Bobby-- Bobby said that no ones actually killed one. And that if we keep her out of the water until her hair dries, she might die."
"Might die?" Dean repeated harshly. "Sam, we can't just charge in there and hope she might die. That's practically suicidal."
Sam threw up his hand in frustration. "You think I don't know that Dean? What do you want me to say? I'm just telling you what Bobby said. You got a problem with it, call him yourself."
Finishing his rant, he sat back and tilted his beer to his lips.
Dean tapped his silver ring absently against the amber bottle in his right hand. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.
Blanche gazed thoughtfully at him and as Dean met her gaze he could see the thoughts racing behind her clear gray eyes.
"What?" he asked, stilling his hand, and Sam looked up, confused at the seemingly random question, following Dean's gaze to Blanche.
She slid her legs off the couch and leaned forward, glancing between the brothers.
"You guys know that behind all that Lore and Legend there's a nugget of truth it's built on, right? Well, it may be true that no ones ever claimed to have killed a Rusalki, but why should that make a difference? I mean, why would that bit about her hair be in lore if there's not truth to it?"
Sam nodded. "That makes sense, Dean," he agreed, and Dean lowered his eyebrows and pursed his lips into his 'thinking face'.
"Makes sense," he repeated finally. "But still none of our ideas will help us, and even knowing what it is won't help us unless we figure out who the next victim is going to be. And so far we have no clue. They're just random killings."
"Seemingly random killings," Blanche corrected and Dean grunted.
"Yeah."
Sam looked weary. "Back to the homework?" he moaned and stood, pacing into the kitchen and tossing his empty bottle into the trash can. "Okay then." And he headed back up the stairs.
Blanche fixed Dean with a naughty smile and glided over to sit on his lap, kissing him deeply.
“Bad girl,” Dean murmured into her mouth, spanking her leg lightly. They could hear Sam thumping down the stairs and Blanche pulled free and danced away, sending her bottle to join Sam’s.
“I’ll get my computer too.” She passed Sam on the stairs, bestowing a flirty smile on him. He raised his eyebrows and smiled back, pausing to watch her race the rest of the way up.
When she returned he was sitting at the dining room table and Dean was flipping aimlessly through the TV channels.
“Nothing on,” he complained, sounding all of five years old as he flipped the remote dexterously in his hand.
Sam twisted in his chair and fixed Dean with and amused yet reproving look. “Um Dean? You could help us you know.”
Dean quirked an eyebrow playfully and Sam turned back to face Blanche across the table from him.
“He’s lazy,” Sam informed her in a stage whisper and she giggled. Dean winked at her across the room and she masked the sparkle in her eyes by opening her laptop.
For hours Blanche and Sam scoured the Internet. Dean moved to the couch and complained further.
They took a break for dinner and afterwards Sam moved to the easy chair, computer on his lap and Blanche took to the couch, laptop balanced on crossed legs. Dean sprawled on the floor in front of the couch, pillows underneath him and his back against the couch, head pillowed against Blanche’s leg. Every so often her fingers rest softly on his neck or played in his spiky hair. Sam saw and said nothing.
Dark had long since fallen when Sam wearily closed his laptop, turning his eyes toward the couch. Blanche's laptop was closed beside her and her leg had slipped down. Dean’s head was leaning against it and his eyes were fixed drunkenly on the television. Blanche’s were closed.
“Dean, we’re getting nowhere,” Sam mumbled, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What are we missing?” He slammed his hands frustratedly on his knees and Dean glanced over at him.
“I don’t know Sam. We’ll have another go at it in the morning. I’ll use one of your laptops and see if a fresh fair of eyes helps.”
“Jeeze Dean, now that we’ve been at it for hours,” Sam snapped grumpily and Dean stood and stretched.
“Don’t be a whiny b--" the last word was lost in a yawn and Sam felt a smile tug at his lips.
“Jerk.”
Dean stooped over Blanche and touched her shoulder, debating whether he should wake her or carry her, deciding on the former option. “Blanche wake up. Time to go to sleep.” He snorted softly at the irony and shook her gently.
Blanche’s eyelashes quivered and she slowly opened her eyes. “Dean.” She smiled sleepily and reached up to pull his head down, kissing him deeply.
Sam’s eyebrows rose and he cleared his throat. “I’ll uh, sleep on the couch,” he interrupted and Blanche pulled back.
“G’night Sam,” she said as she pushed herself unsteadily off the couch. “Whoops, can’t walk,” she giggled, sleep-drunk, and Dean smiled to himself, putting an arm around her waist.
“No I’ll sleep on the couch,” Dean responded to Sam. “You take the bed upstairs.”
“But Dean--"
The look his brother shot him shut his mouth midsentence. “Alright, I’ll sleep on the bed,” Sam relented and Dean nodded. “I’ll be right down. You wanna shower first?”
Sam shrugged. “You’re the one who stinks,” he pointed out and Dean glanced around for something to throw at him.
His little brother laughed at him but Dean turned his attention to guiding Blanche up the stairs. “Hurry up and leave me hot water,” Dean called over his shoulder and Sam made a sound of assent.
Blanche caught Dean’s hand as he turned to leave her at her door. “See you later Dean,” she whispered, slightly more awake now. She leaned in and stole a light kiss.
“Night,” Dean returned and Blanche smiled.
“See you later.” She slipped into her room and closed the door, leaving Dean staring at the chipped white paint.
Seconds later he heard her shower turn on and felt himself warming. Time to go back down stairs. He ducked into the Sam would be sleeping in and grabbed a clean pair of short and a tee shirt.
The long day was finally beginning to get him down, and he rubbed the stitches in his head, regretting it instantly. It still itched and now it burned. Not to mention his bruised ribs and the knots on his head. Dean sighed.
What a crappy day, he thought, and then corrected himself. Semi Crappy. At least one good thing had happened. He grinned at the memory and tramped slowly down the stairs, feeling the jar of each step throughout his entire body.
He took advantage of the remainder of the time Sam was in the bathroom to download all their notes onto Blanche’s computer. Maybe he’d get up early and work on it before the other two woke up. They were running out of time.
Sam opened the bathroom door and a cloud of steam poured out. Dean rolled his eyes.
“All yours.” Sam poked his head into the kitchen and Dean rose, stretching carefully.
“Kay g’night.”
“Night Dean.” Sam trudged up the stairs and Dean heard the bedroom door close above him as he turned the shower back on.
The water was still hot and he allowed his tense muscles to relax, closing his eyes and letting the hot water wash away the grime and stresses of the day.
He was rubbing down with the downy soft towel when her paused abruptly, a thoughtful look creeping over his features. What was it Blanche had said when he’d told her good night?
“See you later,” he whispered to himself. Not ‘good night’, or ‘see you tomorrow’ but ‘see you later’. Why would she have phrased it like that unless--
Dean grinned and secured his towel around his waist. He must have been too tired to catch it earlier, but her was pretty sure that was code for an up-grade in accommodations.
All was silent as Dean crept up the stairs, trying his best not to step on any creaky floorboards. Blanche’s door stood invitingly ajar and Dean slipped in, stopping inside the door.
Blanche sat waiting in the center of her bed, a soft smile on her face as she eased off the bed. “I knew you’d come sooner or later,” she teased softly and pushed the door closed behind him.
~ * ~ * ~
Tuesday, October 7th
The storm struck just after midnight and raged through the wee hours of the morning, complete with thunder and lightning - even a little hail.
Dean jerked awake and lifted his head, instantly awake and alert, his face changing expressions rapidly at the thoughts racing through his head. Blanche stirred in his arms and curled closer but Dean carefully eased himself from between the sheets and quietly padded down the stairs.
Lightning illuminated the kitchen as he grabbed Blanche’s laptop and hurried noiselessly back up to her bedroom.
She shifted again and sleepily opened one eyes as Dean crawled back into the bed and opened the laptop.
“Dean? What are you doing?” Blanche voice was thick with sleep as she pushed up on one elbow and stared drowsily at Dean.
He leaned down and kissed her, running his fingers through her hair. “Shh, just go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m just checking up on a theory.”
“Bu--”
“It couldn’t wait ‘til morning,” he assured her. “It woke me up. Just let me look at this and I promise I’ll be quick.”
Blanche smiled and curled up next to him. “G’night Dean,” she murmured and was asleep in seconds.
Dean stared intently at the laptop, the screen casting an eerie light across him as he rapidly opened the saved files he’d downloaded from Sam’s computer.
The minutes ticked by as the storm raged on, passing unheeded over the Winchester’s head as he absorbed the words on the screen.
Dean’s intake of breath was a sharp hiss as his green eyes narrowed, flicking between the open screen windows. “Son of a --” He left his harsh whisper unfinished and his lips tightened as he rolled out of the bed again, closing the computer and setting it on the dresser.
In seconds he was pulling on his jeans and dragging a gray long sleeve over his head. Phone and keys in one hand, boots in the other he crept down the stairs.
Neither Blanche nor Sam heard the Impala’s engine turn over. Both slept on, heedless of Dean’s absence.
The rain was still coming down with a vengeance when Sam awoke. His eyes came open instantly and he rolled over, glancing at his watch on the side table.
7:02.
It wasn’t even sunrise yet. He frowned, wondering what had roused him. His feet hit the floor soundlessly and he carefully drew his gun from the duffle bag on the floor.
Holding it ready, he advanced down the stairs, pausing at the corners before stepping out gun up, face tight. The house was still; the only sounds the rain dancing on the roof.
Sam finally relaxed and let his hands drop. The house was empty.
The house was empty.
He whirled and looked at the couch again. Empty. Where was Dean? He was supposed to be sleeping there.
Remembering the looks between Blanche and his brother, he relaxed slightly. Dean had probably ended up in Blanche’s bed at some point last night.
And that was when his eyes moved to the window.
It was still dark out but for an instant the lightning illuminated the yard and he saw clearly. Or rather, didn’t see. Not what he was looking for.
The Impala was gone.
Chapter 9