Fic: it burned like fire; Eliot/Dean
it burned like fire
one-shot
Disclaimer: I don't own Leverage, Supernatural or any of its characters or plots. I mean no infringement, this is for personal benefit only.
Fandom: Leverage, Supernatural
Pairing: Eliot Spencer/Dean Winchester
Word count: 1,505
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Summary: Eliot met Dean Winchester five years ago. It was probably one of the worst days of his life. He seems to meet more people on those days.
Warnings: Spoilers for Supernatural Season 6 and Leverage Season 4
Prompt: Money Shot
Author’s Notes:
- Takes place somewhere in Leverage Season 4/5 and Supernatural Season 6.
- For leverageland
*****
Eliot met Dean Winchester five years ago. It was probably one of the worst days of his life. He seems to meet more people on those days.
He’d been tracking a serial killer through Kansas of all places. Eliot hates Kansas and doesn’t know why anyone would go there, much less a serial killer who could more easily have his pick of prey in a larger city such as Chicago or Los Angeles. No, it picked Kansas.
Eliot had been moments away from death--as he was for most of his life if he thought about it--when Dean arrived with his younger, but not smaller, brother in tow. They had giant knives and a calm look.
In nine minutes they had taken out the nest of vampires that Eliot had tracked--and what the fucking hell, vampires? Really?--explained that supernatural things were real, and offered a number that he could reach them out.
Then they left.
And Eliot was suddenly alone in an abandoned warehouse with headless corpses everywhere.
He sort of became a hunter on accident. After that he couldn’t forget that there were really things that went bump in the night. He called Dean, they got drunk, and the next day Dean hooked him up with Bobby. Eliot spent three months with Bobby getting the Introduction to Hunting as well as the Get Out Right The Fuck Now speech. Only one of them stuck and it wasn’t the more intelligent one.
Eliot was fresh out of the military and lost. Hunting gave him a purpose, a reason, and that was something he’d desperately needed.
He spent a year on his own before Nate Ford called him, offering him another purpose. Another way to help people.
Eliot’s never been one who could turn away someone in need, not really. So he went to Los Angeles and gained a family. He still spends his downtime hunting, but it’s not all he does anymore.
“Spencer,” he growls into his phone.
“Is that how you answer for everyone? Because I’ve gotta say, man, it could use a little work.”
Eliot definitely doesn’t allow himself to smile. “Winchester.”
“Yep. Hey, listen, we’re in your neck of the woods, or close enough, and could use your help on a hunt if you’re free.”
“When?”
“Tonight?”
“Where?”
“We’re in Nashua.”
“New Hampshire?” Eliot asks.
“Yeah.”
“Give me an address.”
Dean rattles one off and Eliot writes it down on one of the brightly colors sticky-notes that Hardison keeps the offices stocked with for some reason. “I can be there by sundown.”
“Great. Bring a silver knife if you have one. Blessed by a priest.”
Eliot roles his eyes. “I have four.”
“A prepared hunter is a live one!” Dean jokes.
Eliot hangs up.
So it’s not like he has a thing for Dean Winchester. Not really. Just, maybe a little. They hooked up once. Dean was drunk, Eliot was sober, so there wasn’t really an excuse on his part. And the whole any port in a storm doesn’t really work when you’re both sober the next morning and regret nothing and then blow each other.
And okay, so by hooked up once, he really means they’ve hooked up about once a year since they met.
But it’s not like Eliot’s holding a flame for the guy, or something lame like that. Because he’s not lame. And he’s not that guy. And he sees plenty of people in between meeting up with Dean. So, yeah, he’s not waiting around for him.
It’s just that lately everything has seemed a little bit more lonely. Nate and Sophie are doing whatever Nate and Sophie do when they think that no one else knows and Parker and Hardison are dancing around each other, but Eliot’s pretty sure something will come of that soon enough. So it’s really just him. And he’s fine with picking up random women or whatever. They keep his bed warm for a night. But then they’re gone and he’s stuck in the office with four people trying not to act like their heart is falling out of their eyeballs.
So it’s not that he’s thinking of Dean Winchester as a potential mate or anything, the man travels more than a stewardess, but maybe seeing him would help a little bit. Dean has an easy smile and a joking manner, and he always knows where the best pie is.
-0-
Eliot knocks on the door to room 12 right as the sun disappears behind buildings. It’s Sam who answers, giving Eliot a half-armed hug and letting him in. “Dean’s in the bathroom,” he explains. “How’ve you been, man?”
“Not bad,” Eliot answers. “You?”
Sam quirks a smile. “I think we’ve all been better.”
Eliot know a little bit about what Sam’s alluding to. He knows about the demon blood and the addiction. He knows about Dean going to Hell and then coming back. He knows about Sam going to Hell and then coming back. Eliot doesn’t really know the specifics of anything, but sometimes Dean calls him drunk and rambles on and Eliot puts bits and pieces together.
Sometimes Dean calls him, sober, and just sits there.
Sometimes Eliot calls him, sober, and just sits there.
“If there’s anything I can do,” Eliot offers.
Sam nods. “Yeah, same, man.”
“So what’re we after?”
“Bobby thinks it’s a Lamia,” Sam says. “Dean and I went after it yesterday. Only have some bruises to show for it. The thing is fast. We were gonna call Bobby in, but Dean said you were closer, so we called you. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“No problem,” Eliot tells him. “So silver knife?”
“It’s either that or some kind of rosemary salt mixture that requires fire. We figured the knife route would be faster. Then again, we also thought that yesterday and got our asses handed to us,” he finished wryly.
The bathroom door opens and Dean’s drying his hands on his shirt as he walks out. He looks terrible but he smiles when he sees Eliot, walking over to him. Dean pulls him into more of a real hug than the one Sam offered, clapping him on the back. “Good to see you, man,” he says.
Eliot allows the hug for a second before pushing him away. “Get off, Winchester.”
Dean shoots him a wounded look. “And here I thought we were friends.”
“We can be friends from afar,” Eliot deadpans. “So we ready?”
“You in a hurry?” Dean asks, but he puts his jacket on and grabs his gun and a knife.
Eliot shoots him a look but doesn’t say anything. Dean smirks and it should be annoying, but instead Eliot finds himself smiling a little bit on the inside.
“Time to kill this ugly, son of a bitch!” Dean grins, herding them out the door.
-0-
“So, I’m just going to put this out there,” Dean says, later that night over a beer. Sam’s back at the motel, so it’s just the two of them on the back of Dean’s car in an abandoned field.
“Yeah?”
“I think we should hook up more often,” Dean tells him bluntly. “Things are pretty shit-hit-the-fan here, and Sam’s walking around like a zombie, and Cas is off doing whatever it is he does, and I just… I’m tired, you know? And I know you, so I wouldn’t have to put up with any of that awkward morning-after stuff. We’ve been going up and down the East Coast for a while and I’m--”
“You want to date?” Eliot cuts in.
“Hell, no,” Dean protests. “I don’t need flowers and shit, but sometimes I just need… Fuck, this was a bad idea. Forget it.” He finishes off his beer and starts on another--his third, Eliot notes.
Eliot observes him quietly. Dean’s on the edge--maybe over the edge--and Eliot’s seen this before. In Nate. Dean’s just as functioning as Nate was, but this is different. Dean has an air around him, as though things aren’t going to get better. As though this is all there is and none of it is good anymore.
“You know where I live,” Eliot says finally.
Eliot couldn’t save Nate, couldn’t help him. He couldn’t make Nate’s smiles look any less painful, but maybe he can help Dean. Probably not, but maybe. Eliot’s had a lot of maybes in his life, too many to give up hope on them. Dean’s a maybe. He’s a maybe he’ll live, a maybe he’ll smile again and mean it, a maybe he’ll mean more.
“Thanks,” Dean says quietly.
There aren’t declarations of love or like or even lust. But this was always what they’d been heading to. Ever since Dean had come up behind a wide-eyed Eliot, staring down a group of vampires, and said, “My name is Dean Winchester, and I’m here to rescue you.”
And even though nothing’s happened yet, Eliot feels some of the weight lift off his chest, a little bit of that loneliness that he mostly refuses to
acknowledge. Maybe, he thinks, maybe.
-0-