supernatural/criminal minds: The End of The World, Part 1
Title: The End of The World, Part 1: in which Sam was not crowned princess and still has sore feelings about it.
Author: Liv darkmagic-luvr
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Emily Prentiss. Dean/Emily
Fandoms: Supernatural/Criminal Minds
Rating: R
7-crossoversPrompt: 2. Damsel in Distress
Disclaimer: I don’t own the character you see before you, however any and all original characters are mine and should not be used without my permission.
Warnings: general spoilers for both shows.
Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I’m gonna make it longer just because it seems right.
Summery: It wasn’t unusual to find people stranded on the side of the road with blood covering them from head to foot anymore.
It wasn’t unusual to find people stranded on the side of the road with blood covering them from head to foot anymore. Sometimes they were missing limbs, sometimes they had lost their minds being alone for so long and wouldn’t let anyone near them. Sometimes they were talking to the corpse’s in their arms like they were still alive and breathing. The people Sam and Dean found on the side of the road never really knew what was going on, all they knew was that one day the sky turned brown and the earth started cracking underneath their feet. In a nutshell it was the end of the world; hell hounds running free, without masters, ripping souls from body’s and leaving them to rot. Lilith couldn’t control her pets anymore, not when there were so many of them and they were slipping out of the sores on Earth like water falling through your fingers. Lucifer didn’t chose her as his princess, didn’t chose Sam as his princess either. No, power in Lucifer’s eyes was something that could not be shared. Everyone was far too shocked that ‘Well…shit.’ than to consider doing anything else.
No one bothered to turn to faith, not when they found out it was all real and not just some bedtime story. They ran instead of prayed. They ran or they died. Those who ran always ended up on the side of the road, hitchhikers looking for some sort of sanctuary before the sun set and the brown sky turned black and white. It wasn’t fire that lit up the night sky, it was white hot light, burning souls into damnation, just for the hell of it. The sky would turn brown again and the damage would be assessed. Blood would be wiped onto jeans, another coat of what they were running from, and the running would continue.
Sam and Dean had the Impala. Or what was left of her. Kind of hard to keep maintenance up when you were running for your life, and from it. They couldn’t hunt this many of them, all they could do was keep those still alive, still breathing in the morning. Preferably with all their limbs in tact. The people would leave in the morning, not comfortable with staying with the freaks who seemed to know so much about what was going on. Yeah, the freaks. The freaks who still had their sanity and their lives and saved their asses the night before. Great, thanks a lot, don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.
Driving at dawn was more important now than ever. Dawn was when everything was quiet, and the most running for your life could be done. They had been following the path of tire marks for the past hour, an arm here and there, swerving around a leg or a hand. Sam told Dean to stop the car when he realized he saw three left arms in the past twelve miles. Turns out they had probably been dead a good week or two before they were tossed out the window. Whoever had done it had been smart, leaving treats for the things that went bump in the night, to keep them happy and far away.
“Smart guy,” said Dean, squatting near what looked like a foot. He glanced up at Sam who was standing in the middle of the road, turning slowly in a circle with a deep frown etched on his face. Dean stood up slowly, his knees cracking from the strain. “What’s up?”
“The car tracks stop here,” he said, pointing to the edge of the road, next to the clump of trees that should have been a forest at one point. Dean frowned and stepped carefully in the direction of the pseudo forest, stopping near the closet tree and examining what looked like-
“Nail marks,” said Sam in a hushed voice. “Someone was running.”
“Lot of good that ‘ll do,” muttered Dean, glancing back at Sammy and then back at the tree. Both heads simultaneously shot up at the sound of a branch snapping inside the cluster of trees. Dean pulled his gun from the back of his pants and gestured into the trees, knowing that Sam was watching and understood.
The scent of blood hit them both hard, Dean covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve. They were used to the smell of blood, but it still caught them off guard every now and then. Another branch snapped and Dean straightened his arm, waiting.
He felt the bullet rip into his shoulder before he heard it, and a raven hair woman with blood staining her shirt stepping into his line of vision, holding her gun in a very professional way. Sam’s hands went up automatically and he glanced over at Dean.
“You okay, man?”
“I’ll be fine,” grunted Dean, holding his shoulder with one hand while the other held the gun loosely between his fingers. Sam took a step toward the woman, his hands still raised.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” said Sam. “We’re here to help.”
The woman didn’t seem convinced by Sam, (which was probably a first) and raised her gun a bit higher. Sam glanced over at Dean, giving him a shrug. “Help me out?”
“She shot me!” Sam shrugged again.
“So? At least she can aim,” Dean rolled his eyes at his brother and carefully scrutinized the woman in front of him. She was kinda hot, he’d give her that. But she did shoot him.
“We aren’t demons,” said Dean then nodded over at Sam. “Sam can kill ‘em with his brain. Kind of like that River chick on that show Firefly. She was hot. So was Zoë. Mmh Zoë-”
“What my idiot brother is trying to say is that, we kill the things that are after you. After us,” the woman lowered her gun after a moment of considering Sam’s words, sighing as she replaced her gun in the holster on her hip, which neither of them had noticed.
“I’m Emily,” she said.
“Sam, this is my brother Dean.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Dean, grounding his teeth together as a wave of pain shot down his arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Sam gave Emily a once over as she followed them out of the trees, putting on a concerned front. “That’s not your blood is it?”
“Not all of it,” she said glancing over her shoulder. “There were a lot of body parts in that truck.”
“Smart idea, throwing out the carcasses,” said Dean, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “You think of that yourself?”
Emily didn’t answer him immediately, she waited until she was safely in the back seat of the Impala before she spoke up quietly. “They were my friends.”
Dean froze, his hand clutching his keys, poised to start up the car. He sighed and moved his hand down, turning to look over at her, resting his arm on the seat rest.
“I’m sorry,” Emily nodded, and moved her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ears.
“So am I.”
“Where to, Dean?” asked Sam, unfolding the map next to him on the chair. Dean sighed and glanced out the window. The sun was rising.
“Motel.”
“There’s a Notel Motel about three hours from here,” Dean nodded and started up the car. His eyes caught Emily’s in the rearview mirror and he smirked at her.
“Get comfy.”
To her credit, she didn‘t relax at all, if anything she tensed up. What was more, she seemed to recognize them. Kept tilting her head at Dean, like she was trying to place his face to a name. It wasn’t until Dean parked in very abandoned blood filled parking lot that she finally relaxed.
Sam held the seat for her to climb out of and she thanked him quietly before he turned and motioned to Dean for the keys.
“Where you going?”
“Provisions.” was all he said and Dean nodded, tossing him the keys and silently telling him to keep his head down and be quick about it.
The car squealing away left Dean and Emily in the blood filled parking lot alone. The sun had risen fully now, warming the wet patches of blood on the ground and filling their noses with the stink of burning pennies. Dean nodded to one of the rooms, the only one that didn’t have blood covering it and was still supported by it’s hinges. He didn’t bother with picking the lock, just kicked the fucking door open, because the locks were rusty and brittle and most likely already broken.
He held the door open for Emily, smirking at her suggestively as she walked by. He was satisfied when he saw her smirk, shutting the door behind him and pulling out a bag of hoodoo, pouring it along the floor in front of the door. No one would be able to get in, not even Sam, for the only reason being he had demon blood in him. It was precaution, didn’t know who you could trust now a days. Speaking of, Dean turned and looked over at Emily, who was pacing in front of the mirror. She wasn’t nervous, he noted, she had an adrenaline fix she needed to take care of.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” said Emily, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not everyday the Winchesters pick you up on the side of the road.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, moving to one of the beds, broken and lying in splinters on the floor, but still a bed. “You know who we are?”
“Serial killers,” offered Emily with a halfhearted shrug, looking over at him. “Serial killers who are supposed to be dead. I worked on profiling you for the Chicago PD.”
“Profiling?”
“I’m FBI,” she clarified, sitting down next to him. She scoffed and closed her eyes, letting her head hang, her hair falling to shield her face from view. “Not like it matters anymore anyway.”
“You knew Agent Hendrickson?” asked Dean, raising an eyebrow. Emily shrugged.
“Not well. Worked with him a couple times. You?”
“Saved his ass and got him killed,” said Dean looking away from her. He checked his watch, wondering where the hell Sam was and if he was still alive. Emily noticed.
“You know he’ll be fine,” she said. Dean looked at her sharply. “He’s the one with the superpowers, right?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.”
“How’s your shoulder?” she asked, nodding to the dried blood on his leather jacket, the blood that was still kind of sticky and more red then the rest of the blood on it. Dean shrugged, it was just a graze anyways.
“It’s not the first time someone’s shot me.”
They fell silent and waited, the silence outside almost as deafening and ominous as the silence inside. Emily was twisting her hands together, cracking her knuckles, picking the dirt from underneath her fingernails and repeating the process over again. After ten minutes of watching the cycle repeat itself Dean reached over to her, placing his left hand over hers and stilling her fidgeting. She didn’t jump at his touch, turning her head to look at him, her hair still in her face, obscuring his view of her.
“Tell me,” was all he said. Emily let out a bitter laugh and pulled one of her hands out from beneath his, but didn’t move to shake off his touch. She ran her free hand through her hair, pushing it back. Her bangs flew up from the static in her hair, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“I was in New Orleans,” she said and Dean hissed in understanding. New Orleans was the worst and best place to be when the end of the world started. Worst for the obvious reasons and best for the obvious reasons. “Only five of us got out unhurt. We took the others with us, and they died along the way. We got to Texas and were attacked by this storm cloud. Never saw Reid or Garcia again. Morgan went mad first, which was a surprise-”
“You know I don’t know who these people are, right?” interrupted Dean, raising an eyebrow at her. Emily smiled, a really broken smile.
“Does it matter?”
“No,” said Dean with a shit eating grin and a shrug. “Just thought you should know,” the smile on his face fell and his voice got serious. “How’d you end up alone?”
“Morgan killed Hotch and attacked me,” said Emily, pushing her hair out of her face again. “We were more informed about this stuff than most people, so I have a general idea of what’s going on.”
“Does it scare the hell out of you?”
“I catch serial killers for a living,” said Emily, looking sideways at the splintered mirror leaning against the wall in front of them. “I’m always scared.”
“Good,” said Dean sharply, Emily didn’t jump or look over, but her eyebrows furrowed. “You’ll stay alive longer without any false hope.”
They stopped talking the minute the wind picked up. Dean took his hand off of Emily’s and stood up, moving to the window and fingering the curtain, pulling it back so a sliver of light fell into the room. He stared out, watching for anything the wind might be carrying with it, and after a half an hour of silence, barely breathing, no moving, the wind stopped. Whatever it was, it hadn’t found what it was looking for there.
“I’ve been alone for so long, without people,” Dean closed his eyes as his heart jumped into his throat as Emily’s voice broke the silence. He heard the mattresses shift as she stood up, and felt the warmth of her body as she moved to stand at his elbow. He swallowed at the meaning her words could take, and were taking. It had been so long since he’d held someone warm and breathing and not dead (he refused to hold Sam, he drew the line at Sam. He wasn’t into zombie/necrophilia either, hence the not dead part). He felt Emily’s hand on his arm, sliding up to his shoulder and neck, into his hair. He turned into her arm, staring down at her, into her eyes, watching the hurt and broken pain swirl around in them.
“I’m not a nice guy,” he said softly, his voice sounding husky in his ears. “My job is to keep you alive.”
“What’s the point of being alive if you feel dead?” asked Emily and damn it Dean couldn’t find an answer to that. She was right. So fucking right that he didn’t stop her from pulling him closer, flush against her, against all those soft curves he had totally known she had and pressing her lips against his tentatively. He felt himself respond, brushing her hands against her things and sliding them up to her hips, pushing the fabric of her shirt up. The kiss was chaste, the touching was careful, but Dean slid his tongue over Emily’s bottom lip and the damn broke because then they were tearing off each others clothing, breathing heatedly as they kissed. Dean raked his nails across her ribs and she bit his lip, groaning at just the feel of him against her. They were still standing by the window, touching each other like it was the end of the world because it was the end of the world, not bothering for protection as Dean shoved her against the wall by the window and slid into her because it wasn’t like they were going to be alive long enough. She cried out his name and he sunk his teeth into the curve of her neck, trying not to draw blood because they couldn’t afford to break into a hospital and get a rabies shot or whatever.
Round two was less…animalistic. Less about need and being alive and more about feeling alive and wanting each other. They kept eye contact as Dean moved above her, and that was a first for both of them. Emily kept him close, one of her hands splayed across his back, feeling the muscles under his skin move and her other hand over his chest, her fingers flexing to the rhythm of his heart beat. She whispered his name instead of cried it, slanted her mouth over his because kissing him was like a religious experience. He hand one hand buried his her hair and the other gripping her thigh, hoping that Sam didn’t walk in and at the same time that he did just because it had been a long time since he’d left.
When Sam did finally come back he was white and covered in blood and balancing real food on a case of water Emily and Dean pretended nothing had happened, ignoring the way the room still smelled like sex and how close they let themselves sit together. Sam probably didn’t notice over the smell of blood on his clothes.
“There’s more food in the car,” he said quietly, looking empty. Dean knew that look.
“How many?”
“I slipped in it, that’s how many,” snapped Sam, unbuttoning his shirt, craning his neck away from the offending fluids, tossing it into the small trashcan next to the broken mirror. Dean smirked at him and motioned to his own jaw.
“You missed a spot, right here-”
“I’m taking a shower,” grumbled Sam, but smiled anyways because there were some things that never changed. Dean was one of them. The bathroom door shut and Emily and Dean were left alone again, sitting next to each other on the bed, their legs touching.
“Me and Sam have been hunting since we were kids,” said Dean softly. “But I guess you already knew that?”
“I read Hendrickson’s file on the two of you,” said Emily, not denying anything so he took it as a yes. “I knew you weren’t a killer. A narcissist yeah, but not a killer.”
That got a laugh from him and put a smile back on her face. They sat there, listening to the water in the bathroom run, just smiling, comfortable enough.
“We’re going down to Arizona next,” said Dean when the water in the bathroom turned off. “We’ve got a friend there with a bar. Only person left in the fucking universe who manages to have any alcohol.”
“Good to know-”
“Can we rob a mall or something?” asked Sam, poking his head out of the bathroom and interrupting their conversation, not that they minded. Dean shrugged.
“Why, you out of tighty-whites?”
“Could you not, Dean?”
“Seriously, I didn’t need to know that,” agreed Emily, the smile on her face growing wider.
“Your words say no, but your body says yes.”
Sam rolled his eyes and retreated back into the bathroom, but continued talking. “A mall Dean. Clean clothes, maybe a pair of socks that aren’t soaked in blood.”
“That does sound nice,” said Dean wistfully, batting his eyelashes at the ceiling. “Sure why not.”
They manage to make it out with lots of clean socks, and Dean gets another bullet in the shoulder, because the mall just had to be haunted and Sam just had to put them all to rest.. Lucky for them their bodies were still in the mall…in the hunting store, hence the bullet. Dean thought it would be easier to just burn the whole building to the ground, but noooo…
Instead they had to salt and burn twenty-two bodies. Seven men, twelve women and three small children all lined side by side in the parking lot. Dean let Emily light the match and flung a thong at Sam’s face, just like old times.
Author: Liv darkmagic-luvr
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Emily Prentiss. Dean/Emily
Fandoms: Supernatural/Criminal Minds
Rating: R
7-crossoversPrompt: 2. Damsel in Distress
Disclaimer: I don’t own the character you see before you, however any and all original characters are mine and should not be used without my permission.
Warnings: general spoilers for both shows.
Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but I’m gonna make it longer just because it seems right.
Summery: It wasn’t unusual to find people stranded on the side of the road with blood covering them from head to foot anymore.
It wasn’t unusual to find people stranded on the side of the road with blood covering them from head to foot anymore. Sometimes they were missing limbs, sometimes they had lost their minds being alone for so long and wouldn’t let anyone near them. Sometimes they were talking to the corpse’s in their arms like they were still alive and breathing. The people Sam and Dean found on the side of the road never really knew what was going on, all they knew was that one day the sky turned brown and the earth started cracking underneath their feet. In a nutshell it was the end of the world; hell hounds running free, without masters, ripping souls from body’s and leaving them to rot. Lilith couldn’t control her pets anymore, not when there were so many of them and they were slipping out of the sores on Earth like water falling through your fingers. Lucifer didn’t chose her as his princess, didn’t chose Sam as his princess either. No, power in Lucifer’s eyes was something that could not be shared. Everyone was far too shocked that ‘Well…shit.’ than to consider doing anything else.
No one bothered to turn to faith, not when they found out it was all real and not just some bedtime story. They ran instead of prayed. They ran or they died. Those who ran always ended up on the side of the road, hitchhikers looking for some sort of sanctuary before the sun set and the brown sky turned black and white. It wasn’t fire that lit up the night sky, it was white hot light, burning souls into damnation, just for the hell of it. The sky would turn brown again and the damage would be assessed. Blood would be wiped onto jeans, another coat of what they were running from, and the running would continue.
Sam and Dean had the Impala. Or what was left of her. Kind of hard to keep maintenance up when you were running for your life, and from it. They couldn’t hunt this many of them, all they could do was keep those still alive, still breathing in the morning. Preferably with all their limbs in tact. The people would leave in the morning, not comfortable with staying with the freaks who seemed to know so much about what was going on. Yeah, the freaks. The freaks who still had their sanity and their lives and saved their asses the night before. Great, thanks a lot, don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.
Driving at dawn was more important now than ever. Dawn was when everything was quiet, and the most running for your life could be done. They had been following the path of tire marks for the past hour, an arm here and there, swerving around a leg or a hand. Sam told Dean to stop the car when he realized he saw three left arms in the past twelve miles. Turns out they had probably been dead a good week or two before they were tossed out the window. Whoever had done it had been smart, leaving treats for the things that went bump in the night, to keep them happy and far away.
“Smart guy,” said Dean, squatting near what looked like a foot. He glanced up at Sam who was standing in the middle of the road, turning slowly in a circle with a deep frown etched on his face. Dean stood up slowly, his knees cracking from the strain. “What’s up?”
“The car tracks stop here,” he said, pointing to the edge of the road, next to the clump of trees that should have been a forest at one point. Dean frowned and stepped carefully in the direction of the pseudo forest, stopping near the closet tree and examining what looked like-
“Nail marks,” said Sam in a hushed voice. “Someone was running.”
“Lot of good that ‘ll do,” muttered Dean, glancing back at Sammy and then back at the tree. Both heads simultaneously shot up at the sound of a branch snapping inside the cluster of trees. Dean pulled his gun from the back of his pants and gestured into the trees, knowing that Sam was watching and understood.
The scent of blood hit them both hard, Dean covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve. They were used to the smell of blood, but it still caught them off guard every now and then. Another branch snapped and Dean straightened his arm, waiting.
He felt the bullet rip into his shoulder before he heard it, and a raven hair woman with blood staining her shirt stepping into his line of vision, holding her gun in a very professional way. Sam’s hands went up automatically and he glanced over at Dean.
“You okay, man?”
“I’ll be fine,” grunted Dean, holding his shoulder with one hand while the other held the gun loosely between his fingers. Sam took a step toward the woman, his hands still raised.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” said Sam. “We’re here to help.”
The woman didn’t seem convinced by Sam, (which was probably a first) and raised her gun a bit higher. Sam glanced over at Dean, giving him a shrug. “Help me out?”
“She shot me!” Sam shrugged again.
“So? At least she can aim,” Dean rolled his eyes at his brother and carefully scrutinized the woman in front of him. She was kinda hot, he’d give her that. But she did shoot him.
“We aren’t demons,” said Dean then nodded over at Sam. “Sam can kill ‘em with his brain. Kind of like that River chick on that show Firefly. She was hot. So was Zoë. Mmh Zoë-”
“What my idiot brother is trying to say is that, we kill the things that are after you. After us,” the woman lowered her gun after a moment of considering Sam’s words, sighing as she replaced her gun in the holster on her hip, which neither of them had noticed.
“I’m Emily,” she said.
“Sam, this is my brother Dean.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Dean, grounding his teeth together as a wave of pain shot down his arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Sam gave Emily a once over as she followed them out of the trees, putting on a concerned front. “That’s not your blood is it?”
“Not all of it,” she said glancing over her shoulder. “There were a lot of body parts in that truck.”
“Smart idea, throwing out the carcasses,” said Dean, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “You think of that yourself?”
Emily didn’t answer him immediately, she waited until she was safely in the back seat of the Impala before she spoke up quietly. “They were my friends.”
Dean froze, his hand clutching his keys, poised to start up the car. He sighed and moved his hand down, turning to look over at her, resting his arm on the seat rest.
“I’m sorry,” Emily nodded, and moved her hair off her face, tucking it behind her ears.
“So am I.”
“Where to, Dean?” asked Sam, unfolding the map next to him on the chair. Dean sighed and glanced out the window. The sun was rising.
“Motel.”
“There’s a Notel Motel about three hours from here,” Dean nodded and started up the car. His eyes caught Emily’s in the rearview mirror and he smirked at her.
“Get comfy.”
To her credit, she didn‘t relax at all, if anything she tensed up. What was more, she seemed to recognize them. Kept tilting her head at Dean, like she was trying to place his face to a name. It wasn’t until Dean parked in very abandoned blood filled parking lot that she finally relaxed.
Sam held the seat for her to climb out of and she thanked him quietly before he turned and motioned to Dean for the keys.
“Where you going?”
“Provisions.” was all he said and Dean nodded, tossing him the keys and silently telling him to keep his head down and be quick about it.
The car squealing away left Dean and Emily in the blood filled parking lot alone. The sun had risen fully now, warming the wet patches of blood on the ground and filling their noses with the stink of burning pennies. Dean nodded to one of the rooms, the only one that didn’t have blood covering it and was still supported by it’s hinges. He didn’t bother with picking the lock, just kicked the fucking door open, because the locks were rusty and brittle and most likely already broken.
He held the door open for Emily, smirking at her suggestively as she walked by. He was satisfied when he saw her smirk, shutting the door behind him and pulling out a bag of hoodoo, pouring it along the floor in front of the door. No one would be able to get in, not even Sam, for the only reason being he had demon blood in him. It was precaution, didn’t know who you could trust now a days. Speaking of, Dean turned and looked over at Emily, who was pacing in front of the mirror. She wasn’t nervous, he noted, she had an adrenaline fix she needed to take care of.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” said Emily, running a hand through her hair. “It’s not everyday the Winchesters pick you up on the side of the road.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, moving to one of the beds, broken and lying in splinters on the floor, but still a bed. “You know who we are?”
“Serial killers,” offered Emily with a halfhearted shrug, looking over at him. “Serial killers who are supposed to be dead. I worked on profiling you for the Chicago PD.”
“Profiling?”
“I’m FBI,” she clarified, sitting down next to him. She scoffed and closed her eyes, letting her head hang, her hair falling to shield her face from view. “Not like it matters anymore anyway.”
“You knew Agent Hendrickson?” asked Dean, raising an eyebrow. Emily shrugged.
“Not well. Worked with him a couple times. You?”
“Saved his ass and got him killed,” said Dean looking away from her. He checked his watch, wondering where the hell Sam was and if he was still alive. Emily noticed.
“You know he’ll be fine,” she said. Dean looked at her sharply. “He’s the one with the superpowers, right?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, he’ll be fine.”
“How’s your shoulder?” she asked, nodding to the dried blood on his leather jacket, the blood that was still kind of sticky and more red then the rest of the blood on it. Dean shrugged, it was just a graze anyways.
“It’s not the first time someone’s shot me.”
They fell silent and waited, the silence outside almost as deafening and ominous as the silence inside. Emily was twisting her hands together, cracking her knuckles, picking the dirt from underneath her fingernails and repeating the process over again. After ten minutes of watching the cycle repeat itself Dean reached over to her, placing his left hand over hers and stilling her fidgeting. She didn’t jump at his touch, turning her head to look at him, her hair still in her face, obscuring his view of her.
“Tell me,” was all he said. Emily let out a bitter laugh and pulled one of her hands out from beneath his, but didn’t move to shake off his touch. She ran her free hand through her hair, pushing it back. Her bangs flew up from the static in her hair, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“I was in New Orleans,” she said and Dean hissed in understanding. New Orleans was the worst and best place to be when the end of the world started. Worst for the obvious reasons and best for the obvious reasons. “Only five of us got out unhurt. We took the others with us, and they died along the way. We got to Texas and were attacked by this storm cloud. Never saw Reid or Garcia again. Morgan went mad first, which was a surprise-”
“You know I don’t know who these people are, right?” interrupted Dean, raising an eyebrow at her. Emily smiled, a really broken smile.
“Does it matter?”
“No,” said Dean with a shit eating grin and a shrug. “Just thought you should know,” the smile on his face fell and his voice got serious. “How’d you end up alone?”
“Morgan killed Hotch and attacked me,” said Emily, pushing her hair out of her face again. “We were more informed about this stuff than most people, so I have a general idea of what’s going on.”
“Does it scare the hell out of you?”
“I catch serial killers for a living,” said Emily, looking sideways at the splintered mirror leaning against the wall in front of them. “I’m always scared.”
“Good,” said Dean sharply, Emily didn’t jump or look over, but her eyebrows furrowed. “You’ll stay alive longer without any false hope.”
They stopped talking the minute the wind picked up. Dean took his hand off of Emily’s and stood up, moving to the window and fingering the curtain, pulling it back so a sliver of light fell into the room. He stared out, watching for anything the wind might be carrying with it, and after a half an hour of silence, barely breathing, no moving, the wind stopped. Whatever it was, it hadn’t found what it was looking for there.
“I’ve been alone for so long, without people,” Dean closed his eyes as his heart jumped into his throat as Emily’s voice broke the silence. He heard the mattresses shift as she stood up, and felt the warmth of her body as she moved to stand at his elbow. He swallowed at the meaning her words could take, and were taking. It had been so long since he’d held someone warm and breathing and not dead (he refused to hold Sam, he drew the line at Sam. He wasn’t into zombie/necrophilia either, hence the not dead part). He felt Emily’s hand on his arm, sliding up to his shoulder and neck, into his hair. He turned into her arm, staring down at her, into her eyes, watching the hurt and broken pain swirl around in them.
“I’m not a nice guy,” he said softly, his voice sounding husky in his ears. “My job is to keep you alive.”
“What’s the point of being alive if you feel dead?” asked Emily and damn it Dean couldn’t find an answer to that. She was right. So fucking right that he didn’t stop her from pulling him closer, flush against her, against all those soft curves he had totally known she had and pressing her lips against his tentatively. He felt himself respond, brushing her hands against her things and sliding them up to her hips, pushing the fabric of her shirt up. The kiss was chaste, the touching was careful, but Dean slid his tongue over Emily’s bottom lip and the damn broke because then they were tearing off each others clothing, breathing heatedly as they kissed. Dean raked his nails across her ribs and she bit his lip, groaning at just the feel of him against her. They were still standing by the window, touching each other like it was the end of the world because it was the end of the world, not bothering for protection as Dean shoved her against the wall by the window and slid into her because it wasn’t like they were going to be alive long enough. She cried out his name and he sunk his teeth into the curve of her neck, trying not to draw blood because they couldn’t afford to break into a hospital and get a rabies shot or whatever.
Round two was less…animalistic. Less about need and being alive and more about feeling alive and wanting each other. They kept eye contact as Dean moved above her, and that was a first for both of them. Emily kept him close, one of her hands splayed across his back, feeling the muscles under his skin move and her other hand over his chest, her fingers flexing to the rhythm of his heart beat. She whispered his name instead of cried it, slanted her mouth over his because kissing him was like a religious experience. He hand one hand buried his her hair and the other gripping her thigh, hoping that Sam didn’t walk in and at the same time that he did just because it had been a long time since he’d left.
When Sam did finally come back he was white and covered in blood and balancing real food on a case of water Emily and Dean pretended nothing had happened, ignoring the way the room still smelled like sex and how close they let themselves sit together. Sam probably didn’t notice over the smell of blood on his clothes.
“There’s more food in the car,” he said quietly, looking empty. Dean knew that look.
“How many?”
“I slipped in it, that’s how many,” snapped Sam, unbuttoning his shirt, craning his neck away from the offending fluids, tossing it into the small trashcan next to the broken mirror. Dean smirked at him and motioned to his own jaw.
“You missed a spot, right here-”
“I’m taking a shower,” grumbled Sam, but smiled anyways because there were some things that never changed. Dean was one of them. The bathroom door shut and Emily and Dean were left alone again, sitting next to each other on the bed, their legs touching.
“Me and Sam have been hunting since we were kids,” said Dean softly. “But I guess you already knew that?”
“I read Hendrickson’s file on the two of you,” said Emily, not denying anything so he took it as a yes. “I knew you weren’t a killer. A narcissist yeah, but not a killer.”
That got a laugh from him and put a smile back on her face. They sat there, listening to the water in the bathroom run, just smiling, comfortable enough.
“We’re going down to Arizona next,” said Dean when the water in the bathroom turned off. “We’ve got a friend there with a bar. Only person left in the fucking universe who manages to have any alcohol.”
“Good to know-”
“Can we rob a mall or something?” asked Sam, poking his head out of the bathroom and interrupting their conversation, not that they minded. Dean shrugged.
“Why, you out of tighty-whites?”
“Could you not, Dean?”
“Seriously, I didn’t need to know that,” agreed Emily, the smile on her face growing wider.
“Your words say no, but your body says yes.”
Sam rolled his eyes and retreated back into the bathroom, but continued talking. “A mall Dean. Clean clothes, maybe a pair of socks that aren’t soaked in blood.”
“That does sound nice,” said Dean wistfully, batting his eyelashes at the ceiling. “Sure why not.”
They manage to make it out with lots of clean socks, and Dean gets another bullet in the shoulder, because the mall just had to be haunted and Sam just had to put them all to rest.. Lucky for them their bodies were still in the mall…in the hunting store, hence the bullet. Dean thought it would be easier to just burn the whole building to the ground, but noooo…
Instead they had to salt and burn twenty-two bodies. Seven men, twelve women and three small children all lined side by side in the parking lot. Dean let Emily light the match and flung a thong at Sam’s face, just like old times.