For That and When He Can
Hi Y'all
Uuum, I'm blaming Laertes and the residual sexual tension for this one. And the song t.b.d by Live (played far too loud on loop, sorry next door neighbour Brian). And no, it has no bearing on my lolcats quiz result. SHUT IT the lot of you.
Please get tap tappy below for my
found_fic_spn challenge #10 fic, which I wrote about as fast and dirty as the sex in it. So look out. Don't say I didn't warn ya. A little bit of me wanted to hang onto this baby and make it a multi chap fic but the bit of me that has ten billion things to do says Oh, no you don't: post, post, POST.
Oooh, and ta muchly to
nova_berry for my new writey icon. Very cool dude.
Title: For That and When He Can
Author:
pdragon76
Wordcount: 2900ish
Rating: M (for hot crazy Dean sex action and language)
Spoilers: General Season 2, nothing specific
Summary: A gas station phone call sets Dean on a path as inexorable as a glacier.
Disclaimer: All things Supernatural belong to Kripke not me (Rinse & Repeat)
A/N: Unbeta’d so all niggles, wtf’s and humdingers are mine, all mine. Inspired by challenge #10 at
found_fic_spn. Title stolen from Gertrude Stein’s ‘As a Wife Has a Cow, A Love Story’ Go read it. It does your head in. In a good way. And it’s kinda hot... if you like your steamy all wordy and WTF?
Dean was coming out of the gas station when she rang.
‘Hello?’
Hello?
‘Hello?’
Who’s this?
‘Who’s this?’
Where are you?
‘I’m at a gas station.’
In Montana?
‘Nope. Any reason I should be?’
You’re going to come to Montana.
‘Yeah? Why’s that?’
There’s a junkyard on the corner of Wyoming and North Catlin in Missoula, Montana.
‘And you’re telling me this why?’
Because in five days, that’s where you’re going to kill me.
* * * * *
Sam rounded the line of wrecks and slid to a halt behind his brother’s right shoulder. Dean lifted a cautionary hand across his chest from the stock of his pistol, showed Sam his palm.
Stay there, Sammy.
Jimmy was backing towards the end of the property, dragging Amy with him. The sun glinted off the hunting knife against her throat. The size of the blade made her pale face seem pinched and small above it.
Sam took in the situation and Dean heard his tense, whispered ‘Holy shit.’
Yeah. Holy shit.
‘Let her go, Jimmy. I’ll drop you if I have to. I swear.’
But the Cowboy shook his head.
‘No can do, brother. You know it’s gotta be like this.’
‘I’m not your fucking brother, Jimmy. I said: Let her go.’ Dean moved his finger against the trigger of the Glock. But the shot wasn’t there.
‘Told you,’ Amy said, her voice unnaturally pitched.
Dean opened and closed his fingers around the grip of the gun.
‘Trust me Amy, I’m not doin’ it. Surprise free zone, remember?’
She laughed. It lifted the hairs on the nape of Dean’s neck, and before they had time to settle the Cowboy drew the blade across her throat.
Just like that.
Jimmy dropped her, ducked behind an old Chevy pick up and ran. Dean emptied half the clip into the front quarter panel of the pick up, and then he was on his hands and knees, crawling towards Amy and the river she was bleeding into the dirt. It pulsed and gushed and roared. Dean couldn’t hear himself over it. Didn’t know if he made a sound.
If he even could.
* * * * *
Dean would never have made a move on this chick. Not in a million years. She was practically a client, for fuck’s sake. His first thought when she came up on her toes and kissed him was how he was going to delicately break this little tryst without hurting her feelings.
That was what he would tell Sam, anyway.
And speaking of Sam, any second now he was going to come through that motel door and Dean was pretty sure neither of them could recover from a repeat of the San Antonio Incident. Sam was still feigning blindness and shrieking My eyes! My eyes! every time his failure to lock the door came up in conversation.
He thought all of this while he returned the frantic attentions of her tongue inside his mouth, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of her neck. She was already undoing his shirt. Holy shit, shirt’s coming off. It’s on. It’s on, it’s on, it’s on.
Door, door, DOOR.
Dean wrapped his arm around her waist and turned her, open lips still pressed against hers, and marched them smoothly back against the wall beside the door. He misjudged and they hit it harder than he intended and she bucked back against him. The collision sent sparks up the curve of his spine, down behind the backs of his knees. Dean was beyond the delicacy required of him by the chain on the door and it took him a couple of clumsy, urgent attempts to slide it home. Amy had worked loose the last of his shirt buttons and he rolled his shoulders to help her slide it down off his arms but the cuffs were still done up. He flattened against her, tongue against hers while he brought his wrists together behind his back and undid the buttons upside down and inside out, yanked the shirt off and tossed it blindly.
A second later he had both hands slid up under her top and her bra was pinging loose beneath his fingers at her back. He pulled the top up and she raised her arms to let it pass. Then he dipped his face and found her breast with his tongue. She lifted her knee and he caught her thigh, ran his hand and her skirt up to her ass. Jesus Christ. When did she lose the underwear? She even have any to start with? Awesome. I'm gonna fuckin' marry this chick. He lifted her up against the wall and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Dean sent a silent thank you to no one in particular as he fumbled for his wallet in his back pocket and the rubber in there. Thanked God for that third beer too, ‘cause the way she was grinding back at him? Holy fuck, this was going to be fast and dirty and that third beer was about to buy him some time. He was midway through a breathy groan into her kiss when the motel door suddenly ratcheted against the chain and they both started guiltily.
Fucking Sam.
He pressed his forehead against hers and grimaced. ‘Fucking Sam,’ he whispered out loud.
‘What the fuck, Dean? Get the chain.’
‘Kinda busy, Sam.’
‘You’re what? Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re kidding me right? You fuckin’ rabbit.’
Dean started to answer but Amy twisted her hips mercilessly against him and what the fuck was that move? He made a small involuntary noise against her lips and felt her smile there. Oh yeah, she knew exactly what that was all about.
Outside the door Sam was all righteous indignation.
‘You going for a PB here? We’ve been in town, what? Two fuckin’ seconds?’
Dean cringed, gave Amy an apologetic half-smile. Promiscuity was a hard charge to defend with your jeans around your knees in a motel room. But Amy was laughing, a seductive, raw giggle and then she was doing that fucking thing with her hips again. Dean forgot about Sam, gave her teeth a punishing once over with his tongue as her fingernails raked down his back and he almost came out the top of his skull. Almost came period.
The back end of the 16 x multiplication table got him back from the brink and he risked a cautious thrust through his hips, her lips parting silently in response. Brink be damned, Dean wanted to throw her on the floor and nail her into the foundations.
‘So what? I’m sleeping in the car?’
Dean didn't currently give a flying fuck where Sam slept. He gave Amy two lazy shoves back against the wall, let his eyes do the talking while he dealt with his brother. She returned his gaze with a bright, feline hunger that broke a sweat along the back of his hairline.
‘Get lost, Sam.’
Half a minute later the Impala door slammed and the engine started up. Amy was still working her hips against his and Dean grabbed her ass with both hands, drove deep against her.
‘Holy shit,’ he groaned. He shifted his feet, moved his weight up and pinned her harder against the wall, found a rhythm that got her making a soft sound at the end of each hot breath against his lips. He licked into those moaned vowels, found her tongue again.
For a full minute they locked like that, all harsh breaths and quiet grunts, slippery and sliding, skin slick with sweat.
‘We’re gonna go back and do this properly, right?’ Amy breathed hotly into his ear when Dean dropped his lips to her neck.
The back of his teeth were tingling. Sweat slid coolly down the back of his neck between his shoulder blades. He was insanely aware of every point of contact between them.
‘Jesusgodyes,’ he said.
‘Then quit half-assing around and fuck me.’
* * * * * *
‘That there was a mercy killing, son,’ the Cowboy said, and Dean was nodding at the guy, smiling.
Sam had seen that dead, cold look in his eyes before but he was a fraction of a second too late. He lunged forward but his fingers groped wildly at the airspace behind Dean’s collar. Jimmy didn’t even have time to be surprised. Dean moved fast, and Sam heard the thackthack of his fist double-tapping Jimmy’s clueless face as the hat flew off and Dean followed him backwards and down.
Jimmy hit the ground on his side and Dean was pounding him in the face again before he even stopped moving. By the time Sam got an arm around his brother’s chest and hauled him off, Dean had absolutely lost it.
When it came to a fist fight, Dean was normally an economist. Conservationist even, though it wasn’t a term you probably wanted to use to his face. Point being, he didn’t expend energy he didn’t have to, didn’t entertain the fancy where the practical would do. If a kick in the jewels was going to get the job done, then that’s what Dean Winchester gave you. Square and hard. He was all about the quickest way to drop whatever he was facing. End of story.
Sam had no idea what this Dean was about, but he was still trying to kick Jimmy on the ground as he made a clumsy attempt to manhandle him backwards. It was like getting his arms around a hurricane. A very pissed off hurricane.
Dean was trying to round him, moving like a grimfaced train, and Sam stepped in front of him.
‘Uh-uh. Back off.’
So Dean swung at him.
Sam could count on three fingers the number of times his brother had hit him - really hit him. Despite the element of surprise, Sam snapped back and got an arm up to block it. He managed to take most of the muscle off the back end of it and Dean’s knuckles only grazed his cheek. Sam grappled at his forearm, a blind and lucky grab that came up with the goods completely by chance and he used both of their momentum to swing his brother round. He stamped a foot out behind Dean’s heel and tripped him. The flat hard asphalt of the motel parking lot caught him square in the back but Sam had hold of his forearm and kept the weight out of the fall. He dropped a knee down hard onto Dean’s chest, turned his wrist and leant back through Dean’s twisted arm to pin him at the shoulder.
‘Get the fuck off of me,’ Dean growled, and Sam bent at the hips to look at Jimmy.
‘Get outta here.’
He said it flatly. He wanted to let go and stand up, let Dean purge it all out of his fists and his boots and wherever else those strangled consonant-heavy utterances of frustration and rage were coming from. But he wasn’t going to. This wasn’t a call they got to make. It was outside their jurisdiction and it had to stay that way. Sam couldn't have Dean pin-balling down the same slippery slope Jimmy lived on.
The Cowboy was sitting up, one hand cupping his bleeding nose, the other palming the lot beside his hip.
‘Fuckin’ out of his fuckin’ mind. She had to go, kid. It ain’t pretty and it don’t make me feel good. But she had to go.’
Dean arched up beneath Sam and actually managed to lift him a good half a foot. Sam ground his knee down harder, knowing Dean was running on pure adrenalin. The only thing keeping him in control of this situation was the fact that his brother was thinking neither strategically nor practically. Any second that was all going to change and Sam knew the shoe was going to be on the other foot, and possibly lodged up his ass.
He pointed at Jimmy.
‘Shut the fuck up and get out of here.’ When the Cowboy didn’t move, Sam jutted his chin down at Dean. ‘You got about thirty seconds, man. Then I’m letting him up.’
Dean made a raw, frustrated noise and Sam shook his head.
‘Trust me, you don’t wanna be here when I do.’
* * * * * *
‘Did we break that cupboard door?’
Amy twisted to look at it and Dean lifted his fingers out of her hair, replaced them as she turned back and nestled her naked legs against his beneath the sheets. She rested her chin back on his chest.
‘That may have been my back but it was your ungentlemanly shove.’
‘Well, ungentlemanly is what you get when you do that…’ he made a tiny circle with his index finger in front of her face, ‘…twist thing.’
He let out a low whistle.
Amy chuckled. ‘Ah yes, the twisty thing. It’s a real crowd pleaser.’
Dean gave her a wary look. ‘How big a crowd we talkin’ here?’
Amy smiled slyly. ‘Not Yankee Stadium.’ She chewed her lip, screwed up her nose. ‘More like a bleacher.’
‘And these guys, you get all their cell phone numbers from your fucked-up psychic nightmares?’
‘Ah no. You’re definitely cat number one in the fucked-up psychic nightmare pick-up pool. But based on this? It’s definitely worth another lap.’
Dean gave her an impressed smirk and leant forward to kiss her. She knew how to return a serve. He lifted the photo strip from the bedside table, scratched his eyebrow with the knuckle of his thumb.
‘So this cowboy, he’s been following you all week? Since you had the dream about the car yard and this guy and me and Sam?’
Amy nodded as if she was confirming plans for dinner, not her psychotic stalker. ‘Yep.’
‘And he left this stuck to the windshield of your car?’
‘Yep. Tuesday night in the parking lot at work.’
‘But I’m the one who kills you? In this dream?’
Amy raised her eyebrows in confirmation. Dean let a breath out through his teeth.
‘Amy, I got a confession to make.’ He winced. Rubbed his jaw.
When he didn’t come out with it, she did. ‘You know who he is.’
Dean nodded.
‘Yeah, I do. He’s not a serial killer, or a demon, or a dead guy. He’s a hunter Amy. He works out of a Roadhouse run by a friend of Sam and mine named Ellen Harvelle. I don’t really know this guy - I just know he hangs there and his name’s Jimmy. Some people call him the Cowboy.’ He waggled the photo strip. ‘And I heard he likes to fuck around with the things he hunts.’
Dean froze, realizing the inference there. He tried to correct. ‘I mean, usually he’s not hunting people.’
‘And he wants to kill me because I’ve started seeing things?’ She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘I made such a song and dance before that bus crash last month. I rang every radio, TV station. I may as well have taken out a fucking ad. Get your weirdo psychic chick here.’
Dean cocked his head. ‘Well, yeah. It’s the kinda thing that shows up on the radar. If that’s what you’re looking for. Like I told you, there’s a lot of dangerous folk aren’t gonna stop and ask questions when it comes to people like you and Sam. But we can stop him, Amy.’
‘You really think you can, don’t you?’
‘You do too. You wouldn’t have called otherwise.’
Amy gave him a thin, guarded smile. She was really very pretty. Dean tracked a finger across her temple, threaded a wayward bang of hair behind her ear. He felt a swell of custodial responsibility behind his ribs, altogether different than the familiar weight of guardianship he felt for his brother. This was interlaced with an intimacy. There was choice in it. A freedom.
‘My brother and I have been doing this a long time. We’re good at it.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You don’t still think I’m gonna kill you, do you?’
‘I think people are full of surprises, Dean.’
‘Well, next 24 hours? You got yourself a surprise free zone. ‘Less of course you go horseshit crazy and try to kill me. Then it’s no holds barred. Deal?’
When she laughed again she sounded reassured, like she meant it. ‘Deal.’
* * * * * * *
It took a long time, there in the dirt beside the Chevy pickup.
She’s stubborn, Dean thought and the knowledge cracked him, circled his resolve like a waiting jackal. He pressed his lips together but the trembling there was persistent. Her eyes were glazing, losing the wild terror Dean knew wasn’t leaving his mental etch-a-sketch anytime soon. She was trying to say something.
Shhhhhhhh. The hush wavered through his unsteady lips.
‘K-k-k-k-k….’ Dying there in the dirt she was still trying to tell him.
And then Dean knew.
…in five days, that’s where you’re going to kill me….
He remembered the Glock in his hand, suddenly impossibly large and heavy, and dragged it up until the muzzle was against her temple.
He pulled the trigger just in time to drown out Sam’s startled shout.
Uuum, I'm blaming Laertes and the residual sexual tension for this one. And the song t.b.d by Live (played far too loud on loop, sorry next door neighbour Brian). And no, it has no bearing on my lolcats quiz result. SHUT IT the lot of you.
Please get tap tappy below for my
found_fic_spn challenge #10 fic, which I wrote about as fast and dirty as the sex in it. So look out. Don't say I didn't warn ya. A little bit of me wanted to hang onto this baby and make it a multi chap fic but the bit of me that has ten billion things to do says Oh, no you don't: post, post, POST.
Oooh, and ta muchly to
nova_berry for my new writey icon. Very cool dude.
Title: For That and When He Can
Author:
pdragon76
Wordcount: 2900ish
Rating: M (for hot crazy Dean sex action and language)
Spoilers: General Season 2, nothing specific
Summary: A gas station phone call sets Dean on a path as inexorable as a glacier.
Disclaimer: All things Supernatural belong to Kripke not me (Rinse & Repeat)
A/N: Unbeta’d so all niggles, wtf’s and humdingers are mine, all mine. Inspired by challenge #10 at
found_fic_spn. Title stolen from Gertrude Stein’s ‘As a Wife Has a Cow, A Love Story’ Go read it. It does your head in. In a good way. And it’s kinda hot... if you like your steamy all wordy and WTF?
Dean was coming out of the gas station when she rang.
‘Hello?’
Hello?
‘Hello?’
Who’s this?
‘Who’s this?’
Where are you?
‘I’m at a gas station.’
In Montana?
‘Nope. Any reason I should be?’
You’re going to come to Montana.
‘Yeah? Why’s that?’
There’s a junkyard on the corner of Wyoming and North Catlin in Missoula, Montana.
‘And you’re telling me this why?’
Because in five days, that’s where you’re going to kill me.
* * * * *
Sam rounded the line of wrecks and slid to a halt behind his brother’s right shoulder. Dean lifted a cautionary hand across his chest from the stock of his pistol, showed Sam his palm.
Stay there, Sammy.
Jimmy was backing towards the end of the property, dragging Amy with him. The sun glinted off the hunting knife against her throat. The size of the blade made her pale face seem pinched and small above it.
Sam took in the situation and Dean heard his tense, whispered ‘Holy shit.’
Yeah. Holy shit.
‘Let her go, Jimmy. I’ll drop you if I have to. I swear.’
But the Cowboy shook his head.
‘No can do, brother. You know it’s gotta be like this.’
‘I’m not your fucking brother, Jimmy. I said: Let her go.’ Dean moved his finger against the trigger of the Glock. But the shot wasn’t there.
‘Told you,’ Amy said, her voice unnaturally pitched.
Dean opened and closed his fingers around the grip of the gun.
‘Trust me Amy, I’m not doin’ it. Surprise free zone, remember?’
She laughed. It lifted the hairs on the nape of Dean’s neck, and before they had time to settle the Cowboy drew the blade across her throat.
Just like that.
Jimmy dropped her, ducked behind an old Chevy pick up and ran. Dean emptied half the clip into the front quarter panel of the pick up, and then he was on his hands and knees, crawling towards Amy and the river she was bleeding into the dirt. It pulsed and gushed and roared. Dean couldn’t hear himself over it. Didn’t know if he made a sound.
If he even could.
* * * * *
Dean would never have made a move on this chick. Not in a million years. She was practically a client, for fuck’s sake. His first thought when she came up on her toes and kissed him was how he was going to delicately break this little tryst without hurting her feelings.
That was what he would tell Sam, anyway.
And speaking of Sam, any second now he was going to come through that motel door and Dean was pretty sure neither of them could recover from a repeat of the San Antonio Incident. Sam was still feigning blindness and shrieking My eyes! My eyes! every time his failure to lock the door came up in conversation.
He thought all of this while he returned the frantic attentions of her tongue inside his mouth, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of her neck. She was already undoing his shirt. Holy shit, shirt’s coming off. It’s on. It’s on, it’s on, it’s on.
Door, door, DOOR.
Dean wrapped his arm around her waist and turned her, open lips still pressed against hers, and marched them smoothly back against the wall beside the door. He misjudged and they hit it harder than he intended and she bucked back against him. The collision sent sparks up the curve of his spine, down behind the backs of his knees. Dean was beyond the delicacy required of him by the chain on the door and it took him a couple of clumsy, urgent attempts to slide it home. Amy had worked loose the last of his shirt buttons and he rolled his shoulders to help her slide it down off his arms but the cuffs were still done up. He flattened against her, tongue against hers while he brought his wrists together behind his back and undid the buttons upside down and inside out, yanked the shirt off and tossed it blindly.
A second later he had both hands slid up under her top and her bra was pinging loose beneath his fingers at her back. He pulled the top up and she raised her arms to let it pass. Then he dipped his face and found her breast with his tongue. She lifted her knee and he caught her thigh, ran his hand and her skirt up to her ass. Jesus Christ. When did she lose the underwear? She even have any to start with? Awesome. I'm gonna fuckin' marry this chick. He lifted her up against the wall and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Dean sent a silent thank you to no one in particular as he fumbled for his wallet in his back pocket and the rubber in there. Thanked God for that third beer too, ‘cause the way she was grinding back at him? Holy fuck, this was going to be fast and dirty and that third beer was about to buy him some time. He was midway through a breathy groan into her kiss when the motel door suddenly ratcheted against the chain and they both started guiltily.
Fucking Sam.
He pressed his forehead against hers and grimaced. ‘Fucking Sam,’ he whispered out loud.
‘What the fuck, Dean? Get the chain.’
‘Kinda busy, Sam.’
‘You’re what? Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re kidding me right? You fuckin’ rabbit.’
Dean started to answer but Amy twisted her hips mercilessly against him and what the fuck was that move? He made a small involuntary noise against her lips and felt her smile there. Oh yeah, she knew exactly what that was all about.
Outside the door Sam was all righteous indignation.
‘You going for a PB here? We’ve been in town, what? Two fuckin’ seconds?’
Dean cringed, gave Amy an apologetic half-smile. Promiscuity was a hard charge to defend with your jeans around your knees in a motel room. But Amy was laughing, a seductive, raw giggle and then she was doing that fucking thing with her hips again. Dean forgot about Sam, gave her teeth a punishing once over with his tongue as her fingernails raked down his back and he almost came out the top of his skull. Almost came period.
The back end of the 16 x multiplication table got him back from the brink and he risked a cautious thrust through his hips, her lips parting silently in response. Brink be damned, Dean wanted to throw her on the floor and nail her into the foundations.
‘So what? I’m sleeping in the car?’
Dean didn't currently give a flying fuck where Sam slept. He gave Amy two lazy shoves back against the wall, let his eyes do the talking while he dealt with his brother. She returned his gaze with a bright, feline hunger that broke a sweat along the back of his hairline.
‘Get lost, Sam.’
Half a minute later the Impala door slammed and the engine started up. Amy was still working her hips against his and Dean grabbed her ass with both hands, drove deep against her.
‘Holy shit,’ he groaned. He shifted his feet, moved his weight up and pinned her harder against the wall, found a rhythm that got her making a soft sound at the end of each hot breath against his lips. He licked into those moaned vowels, found her tongue again.
For a full minute they locked like that, all harsh breaths and quiet grunts, slippery and sliding, skin slick with sweat.
‘We’re gonna go back and do this properly, right?’ Amy breathed hotly into his ear when Dean dropped his lips to her neck.
The back of his teeth were tingling. Sweat slid coolly down the back of his neck between his shoulder blades. He was insanely aware of every point of contact between them.
‘Jesusgodyes,’ he said.
‘Then quit half-assing around and fuck me.’
* * * * * *
‘That there was a mercy killing, son,’ the Cowboy said, and Dean was nodding at the guy, smiling.
Sam had seen that dead, cold look in his eyes before but he was a fraction of a second too late. He lunged forward but his fingers groped wildly at the airspace behind Dean’s collar. Jimmy didn’t even have time to be surprised. Dean moved fast, and Sam heard the thackthack of his fist double-tapping Jimmy’s clueless face as the hat flew off and Dean followed him backwards and down.
Jimmy hit the ground on his side and Dean was pounding him in the face again before he even stopped moving. By the time Sam got an arm around his brother’s chest and hauled him off, Dean had absolutely lost it.
When it came to a fist fight, Dean was normally an economist. Conservationist even, though it wasn’t a term you probably wanted to use to his face. Point being, he didn’t expend energy he didn’t have to, didn’t entertain the fancy where the practical would do. If a kick in the jewels was going to get the job done, then that’s what Dean Winchester gave you. Square and hard. He was all about the quickest way to drop whatever he was facing. End of story.
Sam had no idea what this Dean was about, but he was still trying to kick Jimmy on the ground as he made a clumsy attempt to manhandle him backwards. It was like getting his arms around a hurricane. A very pissed off hurricane.
Dean was trying to round him, moving like a grimfaced train, and Sam stepped in front of him.
‘Uh-uh. Back off.’
So Dean swung at him.
Sam could count on three fingers the number of times his brother had hit him - really hit him. Despite the element of surprise, Sam snapped back and got an arm up to block it. He managed to take most of the muscle off the back end of it and Dean’s knuckles only grazed his cheek. Sam grappled at his forearm, a blind and lucky grab that came up with the goods completely by chance and he used both of their momentum to swing his brother round. He stamped a foot out behind Dean’s heel and tripped him. The flat hard asphalt of the motel parking lot caught him square in the back but Sam had hold of his forearm and kept the weight out of the fall. He dropped a knee down hard onto Dean’s chest, turned his wrist and leant back through Dean’s twisted arm to pin him at the shoulder.
‘Get the fuck off of me,’ Dean growled, and Sam bent at the hips to look at Jimmy.
‘Get outta here.’
He said it flatly. He wanted to let go and stand up, let Dean purge it all out of his fists and his boots and wherever else those strangled consonant-heavy utterances of frustration and rage were coming from. But he wasn’t going to. This wasn’t a call they got to make. It was outside their jurisdiction and it had to stay that way. Sam couldn't have Dean pin-balling down the same slippery slope Jimmy lived on.
The Cowboy was sitting up, one hand cupping his bleeding nose, the other palming the lot beside his hip.
‘Fuckin’ out of his fuckin’ mind. She had to go, kid. It ain’t pretty and it don’t make me feel good. But she had to go.’
Dean arched up beneath Sam and actually managed to lift him a good half a foot. Sam ground his knee down harder, knowing Dean was running on pure adrenalin. The only thing keeping him in control of this situation was the fact that his brother was thinking neither strategically nor practically. Any second that was all going to change and Sam knew the shoe was going to be on the other foot, and possibly lodged up his ass.
He pointed at Jimmy.
‘Shut the fuck up and get out of here.’ When the Cowboy didn’t move, Sam jutted his chin down at Dean. ‘You got about thirty seconds, man. Then I’m letting him up.’
Dean made a raw, frustrated noise and Sam shook his head.
‘Trust me, you don’t wanna be here when I do.’
* * * * * *
‘Did we break that cupboard door?’
Amy twisted to look at it and Dean lifted his fingers out of her hair, replaced them as she turned back and nestled her naked legs against his beneath the sheets. She rested her chin back on his chest.
‘That may have been my back but it was your ungentlemanly shove.’
‘Well, ungentlemanly is what you get when you do that…’ he made a tiny circle with his index finger in front of her face, ‘…twist thing.’
He let out a low whistle.
Amy chuckled. ‘Ah yes, the twisty thing. It’s a real crowd pleaser.’
Dean gave her a wary look. ‘How big a crowd we talkin’ here?’
Amy smiled slyly. ‘Not Yankee Stadium.’ She chewed her lip, screwed up her nose. ‘More like a bleacher.’
‘And these guys, you get all their cell phone numbers from your fucked-up psychic nightmares?’
‘Ah no. You’re definitely cat number one in the fucked-up psychic nightmare pick-up pool. But based on this? It’s definitely worth another lap.’
Dean gave her an impressed smirk and leant forward to kiss her. She knew how to return a serve. He lifted the photo strip from the bedside table, scratched his eyebrow with the knuckle of his thumb.
‘So this cowboy, he’s been following you all week? Since you had the dream about the car yard and this guy and me and Sam?’
Amy nodded as if she was confirming plans for dinner, not her psychotic stalker. ‘Yep.’
‘And he left this stuck to the windshield of your car?’
‘Yep. Tuesday night in the parking lot at work.’
‘But I’m the one who kills you? In this dream?’
Amy raised her eyebrows in confirmation. Dean let a breath out through his teeth.
‘Amy, I got a confession to make.’ He winced. Rubbed his jaw.
When he didn’t come out with it, she did. ‘You know who he is.’
Dean nodded.
‘Yeah, I do. He’s not a serial killer, or a demon, or a dead guy. He’s a hunter Amy. He works out of a Roadhouse run by a friend of Sam and mine named Ellen Harvelle. I don’t really know this guy - I just know he hangs there and his name’s Jimmy. Some people call him the Cowboy.’ He waggled the photo strip. ‘And I heard he likes to fuck around with the things he hunts.’
Dean froze, realizing the inference there. He tried to correct. ‘I mean, usually he’s not hunting people.’
‘And he wants to kill me because I’ve started seeing things?’ She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘I made such a song and dance before that bus crash last month. I rang every radio, TV station. I may as well have taken out a fucking ad. Get your weirdo psychic chick here.’
Dean cocked his head. ‘Well, yeah. It’s the kinda thing that shows up on the radar. If that’s what you’re looking for. Like I told you, there’s a lot of dangerous folk aren’t gonna stop and ask questions when it comes to people like you and Sam. But we can stop him, Amy.’
‘You really think you can, don’t you?’
‘You do too. You wouldn’t have called otherwise.’
Amy gave him a thin, guarded smile. She was really very pretty. Dean tracked a finger across her temple, threaded a wayward bang of hair behind her ear. He felt a swell of custodial responsibility behind his ribs, altogether different than the familiar weight of guardianship he felt for his brother. This was interlaced with an intimacy. There was choice in it. A freedom.
‘My brother and I have been doing this a long time. We’re good at it.’ He narrowed his eyes at her. ‘You don’t still think I’m gonna kill you, do you?’
‘I think people are full of surprises, Dean.’
‘Well, next 24 hours? You got yourself a surprise free zone. ‘Less of course you go horseshit crazy and try to kill me. Then it’s no holds barred. Deal?’
When she laughed again she sounded reassured, like she meant it. ‘Deal.’
* * * * * * *
It took a long time, there in the dirt beside the Chevy pickup.
She’s stubborn, Dean thought and the knowledge cracked him, circled his resolve like a waiting jackal. He pressed his lips together but the trembling there was persistent. Her eyes were glazing, losing the wild terror Dean knew wasn’t leaving his mental etch-a-sketch anytime soon. She was trying to say something.
Shhhhhhhh. The hush wavered through his unsteady lips.
‘K-k-k-k-k….’ Dying there in the dirt she was still trying to tell him.
And then Dean knew.
…in five days, that’s where you’re going to kill me….
He remembered the Glock in his hand, suddenly impossibly large and heavy, and dragged it up until the muzzle was against her temple.
He pulled the trigger just in time to drown out Sam’s startled shout.