Fic: Flooded
Title: Flooded
Author: BuffyWinchester
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: No pairings.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or the shows they're on, etc...
Summary: Dean picks up a stranger in the storm
Notes: pre-series SPN; post-series BtVS
"You haven't heard from him, then?" Dean pressed the phone closer to his ear, straining to hear the response over the sound of the rain pelting the roof of his car. It was late August in Indiana, and this weather was typical. "Hello?" There was no answer, even after he repeated himself a few more times. He pulled the phone away from his ear and swore under his breath. The storm had knocked out the tower, apparently. He had lost his signal.
He tossed the phone onto the seat beside him, then turned the key in the ignition and blew into his hands to warm them. Dad had already been missing for a week, and that was more than enough time for him to have at least called and said he was okay. But he hadn't, which meant he wasn't.
The windshield wipers were useless in this storm, but he was using them anyway, squinting through the torrent of water. He almost didn't see her, the passing blur of blonde hair and pale skin. She was wearing black and walking on the side of the road, and she was bound to be a target for whatever schmuck liked driving around with their brights turned off on a night like this.
He stopped beside her and rolled the window down just enough to talk to her. "Hey. Need a lift somewhere? I don't know if you noticed, but it's storming like a mother out here." He grinned disarmingly, and the annoyed scowl faded from her features.
She laughed. "And here I thought this was just some kind of sick illusion."
He pushed the door open and she climbed in, pulling the door shut and rolling up the window. Goosebumps danced over her skin, and she shoved her wet hair away from her face, clenching her teeth when they started to chatter.
"What were you doing out there?" He left the lights on and grabbed his duffel bag out of the back, rummaging through it for one of the towels he kept with him for situations like this. He'd learned his lesson in high school, when some jock asshole knocked him into a pool and he had to take off to avoid the cops, soaking the car's interior with chlorinated water.
"My car broke down about a mile back there, and my cell phone is of the nonworking variety. I figured I'd just walk until I found a gas station so I can call one of my friends."
Dean gave her a quick once-over. She probably weighed a hundred pounds, drenched as she was. She wasn't even carrying a purse. And the black clothing meant she definitely wasn't a woman in white. She was harmless. "I'm staying in a motel." He said casually.
She turned her head slowly, frowning up at him as she reached for the door handle. "I'm not interested."
"That's not what I meant." He muttered. "You're soaked and freezing, and it's not safe for anybody to be driving around in this, so your friends probably can't help you until the storm lets up. The clerk's already left for the night, so unless you want to sleep in the lobby, you're welcome to stay with me."
After a few seconds, she reluctantly let go of the door and took the towel from him, wiping off her arms and face. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Do you need anything out of your car?"
She shook her head. "Nope, the only thing in it was me."
Dean turned the car around, muscles tensed as though he was bracing himself for impact of an oncoming vehicle. When nothing hit the Impala, he relaxed. "Name's Dean. Just so you know."
"I'm Buffy."
When he unlocked the door to the motel, he pushed it open and gestured for her to go ahead.
She started to sit down on one of the beds, then stood straight up when she remembered she was soaked. "Um..."
Dean flopped down on the other bed and looked up at her as he reached for the remote control. "Wanna borrow a shirt or somethin'?" He offered.
Buffy looked relieved. "Yeah. I should have planned for this, I guess. I was just supposed to go pick up the new slayer." She bit her lip, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt as she tried to think of a lie to cover up her mistake. She was exhausted and still too cold from the rain. She had not been thinking clearly. He was going to have questions, and she didn't want to have to explain herself.
He fumbled with the duffel bag beside him, staring at her in openmouthed shock. "You like Slayer?"
"I - what?"
"You don't look the type. They just seem a little too hardcore for you." He smiled. "I think if you tried to get in a mosh pit, you'd go flying. Hell, I don't even bother with those things."
"I thought mosh pits were for guys with long hair and limited vocabularies." Buffy mused. But at least Dean had given her a lie to use. "It's not for me. It's for a friend."
When he smiled, she felt her stomach twist a little, pleased at what appeared to be his approval. "You don't like them?" She guessed, catching the t-shirt he tossed to her.
"Nah." He frowned. "I like Metallica and Black Sabbath. Those are real bands."
She nodded in acknowledgment and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Dean got up from the bed and walked over to the door. "Hey." He called through it. "What about you?"
On the other side of the door, Buffy smiled to herself and ran her fingers through her hair to untangle it. "I'm not in a band. And I don't think you'd want to hear me sing."
He laughed. "No, I mean what bands do you like?"
The door opened, and she turned to gather up the wet clothes from the floor, careful to hold them away from her. Dean stared as the end of his shirt rode up, exposing her thighs.
"I don't have any favorites." She said, walking past him. "I like a lot of different things."
"That just means you don't know what you like, yet." He argued, sitting back down on his bed. "You should have a favorite band. Everybody should."
Buffy yawned as she pulled the blanket back from her own bed. "Maybe." She laid down and glanced at the phone. "I think I might as well wait until tomorrow." She mumbled, speaking mostly to herself. "It's too late tonight."
"Yeah." Dean said, not sure what else to say, just that he seemed to be expected to respond somehow.
"Dean?" His name in her mouth felt foreign. A word in a language nobody spoke anymore. Her sleep-deprived mind wondered what it meant. Hope? Anarchy? Some kind of prayer to a long-forgotten god?
"You can sleep." He assured her.
"That's not what I was going to ask." She insisted, even as sleep wrapped around her. She rolled onto her side to face him. "You said it was dangerous." She murmured. "So why were you out?"
Dean took a few minutes to answer, knowing she was already asleep before he did. "I was trying to find my dad."