SN Fic: Chosen (Mayaverse #1)
x-posted on supernaturalfic
Title: Chosen
Rating: sexual innuendos; language
Category: Canon; Teen/General
Characters: mostly Dean, some Sam, and my own character. (credits nuendos; language
Category: Canon; Teen/General
Characters: mostly Dean, some Sam, and my own character. (credits at the end)
Pairing: Dean/Maya
Spoilers: season 1, afat the end)
Pairing: Dean/Maya
Spoilers: season 1, after Asylum
Notable Credits: thanks to maygra and diamondback158 for the beta-reads, and diamondback158 for the title idea.
Summary: Rule #1 of Pool Hustling: Don’t Hustle the Hustler.I got the ways and means
to New Orleans
I'm going down by the river
where it's warm and green
I'm gonna have a drink
and walk around
I gotta lot to think about, oh yeah...
~ Concrete Blonde, ©1990
It was just another slow night at the bar where I work, customers drinking too much, betting too much on pool, and getting into bar fights, which just get them thrown out. You see a lot of shit, working in a bar, and I get no less of it. Maybe I even get more than my share.
These days, I call myself Maya, but I don't even remember if that's my real name. But it works for me. And that night, things got real interesting when a young man named Dean Winchester walked into the bar and sat down in my favorite barstool.
I knew I'd met my mark. I mean, my match.
~*~
It was another small town. They were all the same, reflected Dean Winchester as he surveyed the patrons of the local bar. If it's Tuesday, this must be Belgium, wasn’t that how the movie went?
He sat at the bar, watching the bartender in her too-tight shirt pouring drinks for the guys wearing their flannel shirts and jeans; watching the television mounted in the ceiling showing highlights of a sports team he’d never even heard of; watching the front door for Sam's return from the local mini-mart they’d passed on the way here.
Wherever “here” was this time.
He was most interested in who was at the pool table, how they were playing, and who was likely going to be his mark. More guys in flannel shirts, jeans, and black boots. This was gonna be a tough town, Dean thought, until she walked in.
She carried a pool stick like a baton, and strutted like she was the leader of the parade. Her jeans hugged her curves quite nicely, Dean noticed, his eyebrows raising. When she turned, Dean noticed her baby-doll tee shirt afforded him a slight peek at the tight skin underneath. She was waif-like, didn’t look like she'd had a boob job, and her deep red lips were pouty.
Her face looked like porcelain, and almost as white too. Her shoulder-length jet black hair shimmered under the cheesy lights over the tables, and her eyes reminded Dean of a nice, tall mug of beer. Way to go, dude, the elder Winchester thought to himself. Cheapen the moment.
He watched her bend over the table, wiggle her butt a little - just for the guys watching her - and tried to shoot her pool stick at the cue ball. She missed, and giggled. Dean just smiled slyly. He’d found his next victim.
When the girl - who Dean guessed to be about Sam’s age of 22 - was finished with her game, such as it was, she came over to the bar to order a drink. She sat on the stool next to Dean and sipped the amber liquid thoughtfully.
Dean watched her, a bit of a smirk on his face, waiting to ask her if she wanted to try a game of pool with him, maybe he could show her some tips?
She sat, looking at her beer mug, and spoke to Dean.
“I can feel you watching me,” she said with a slightly British lilt. Then she tilted her head to look over at Dean, and his goofy grin. She motioned to her pool stick, which was propped up against her stool. “Interested in a game of eight-ball?” she asked.
“Uh... I, uh,” Dean was caught off guard. How did that happen? “Sure,” he said, his voice husky. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. What, he'd never had a girl ask him for a game of pool? He had just watched her shoot pool by herself, and hoped she'd do that bad just enough for Dean to pay for their room for that night.
The first few games, Dean was feeling good. They’d only wagered $20 to $30 on each game, and Dean won easily each time. So when she proposed double or nothing, Dean figured another $140 wouldn’t hurt his cache.
She smiled at him, and provocatively chalked the end of her pool stick. Dean actually stared at her, not believing what she was actually insinuating. When she broke the racked pool balls, Dean came out of his revelry. He watched the balls roll in all directions across the green felt table, and heard one drop in the pocket. He looked around the table, and noticed one missing.
“Holy crap,” he muttered as he looked in the pockets, until he found the one he was looking for. Inside was the eight ball. Damn it, but he’d been had.
She walked around the table to Dean and leaned up against him. He was standing at the side of the table where they’d placed the money, and when she came over to him, he instinctively put his hand down on the money. She put her hand down on top of his. It was cool to the touch.
She reached up with her other hand to caress his stubbly cheek, and whispered in his ear.
“I believe that’s mine.”
“I can’t believe you did that.” he returned.
“Did what?” she breathed. Her lips were close to his, it would be so easy for him to just turn, and kiss - where did that come from? He cleared the cobwebs from his mind.
“You don’t beat The Dean,” he boasted.
“I do. Tell you what...” she said, now looking at his hand on the pool table, and tracing his fingers with her perfectly manicured blood-red nails. She looked back up. “...you help me, and I'll give you this money back.”
Dean’s voice was tight when he spoke. Did she not know what her caress was doing to him?
“Help you with what?” he finally asked, his voice husky.
The front door slammed open. “Hey, Dean!” Sam called, coming over to the pool table where he'd seen his older brother. It was then he noticed the woman draped over Dean. “I, uh, I’ll be in the car.” Sam started to leave.
Dean stepped back from the woman, and gestured to Sam. It was only Sam who noticed Dean palming the money on the bumper of the table, but only because he’d seen Dean do that before. “My brother, Sammy,” he told the woman, who gave Sam a little wave. Dean turned to the woman, “And you are?”
“Maya,” she said, smiling at Sam.
“She needs our help, Sam.”
“Actually,” Maya said, putting her hand on Dean’s cheek again and turning him to face her. “It’s your help I need,” she whispered. And then she kissed him.
~*~
“So let me get this right,” Dean said sometime later, after Sam had gone back to the motel room. Dean knew he needed sleep, sleep uninterrupted by visions of Jessica, and only by ordering Sam to stay in the room and get the sleep he so badly needed was the only way the younger Winchester would get it. Now, Dean was still at the bar, with another beer, with Maya on the next stool facing him, her hand high on his thigh.
“You want me,” he said taking a pull on his beer, “to be your date at this club?”
“That’s exactly right,” she purred, watching his every movement intently, no matter how small it seemed. His Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his eyes watching her, the pulsing in his neck...
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?” he asked. There was something about her, he’d decided. And he was going to help her. That was what he did after all - help people. Lately, they’d all been of a supernatural nature, but a date? Why the hell not? He was allowed to have some fun from time to time. He wasn’t the one having visions that woke him up in a cold sweat.
“It’s the rules of the club, the Necropolis. You need to have a date. No singles allowed.”
Hmm. “Really?” he raised his eyebrows.
She squeezed his thigh, and then stroked his cheek with her fingernails. “Really,” she said softly, seductively, like a caress of words.
“Uhm... Yeah, uh, why me?” This was bad, faltering like this twice in a couple of hours.
“Why not?” she asked. “Don’t you want to come with me?”
Oh yeah, I’ll go anywhere with you, he said silently. “Sure. But I like to know what I’m getting myself into before picking up strange ladies in a bar.”
She smiled. “I was the one who picked you up,” she pointed out.
“Ahh,” he said, smiling at her, and then turning back for another pull on his amber drink. What was happening to him? He never had these chick flick moments before now. He hated them. She was affecting him somehow.
Leaving the local bar was a blur to Dean, an experience he would later file away as one not to repeat. He couldn’t remember driving though the little town, but he was getting out of his Impala outside the Necropolis a short drive later. The Necropolis Club was housed in an abandoned warehouse, creating a massive club with several floors for the dancers; and numerous rooms for couples, drug users, and others looking for privacy.
Dean and Maya could hear the thumping of the bass beat even before they reached the door. There was only a short line to get into the club, and within a few moments, they were at the door.
“Maya, good to finally see you here,” the bouncer said stiffly, but oddly welcoming.
“Thanks, Nigel,” she said. “This is Dean.” She introduced Dean to Nigel, who was not impressed. Nigel stood six-and-a-half feet tall, a good six inches taller than Dean, and Nigel was solid. Dean wouldn’t want to meet him alone in a dark alleyway. Maya wound her arm around Dean's waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Hi,” Dean smiled reluctantly, and gave Nigel a little wave. Nigel didn’t even twitch.
As Maya settled her hand into Dean’s back pocket, they walked into the club together. What was going on here? Dean wondered, not for the first time. There was something about this that didn’t seem right, but he’d be damned if he knew what it was. He couldn’t think straight enough to stop and try to figure it out. All he did know was that he wanted to be with Maya. But he couldn’t explain why. And there still was a small part of his mind that wanted to know why. But Dean paid no heed to that part.
Beer in one hand, Maya holding the other, Dean experienced all that was to be had at the club. He actually danced with Maya, who was shimmying against his body the whole night, and leaving him with quite an erection.
By the early morning hours, both were dancing against each other, moving seductively to the music. They were almost making love through their clothes. Each time Dean’s mug was emptied, Maya called over a waitress to refill it for her. Dean noticed through his haze she was drinking a deep red wine, but not nearly as much as Dean had to drink.
Dean leaned over and spoke in Maya’s ear.
“I have to give you something, Maya,” he slurred slightly. Maya turned to look at him, her eyebrows now raised. He pressed something metal into her hands, and she knew it was his car keys.
“I gotta get back to the motel. My brother and I supposed to leave in the morning. And I can’t drive. You gotta take me there.”
Maya turned Dean's face towards her. She lightly kissed his soft lips. “You’re drunk,” she said softly.
“I know,” he agreed. She kissed him deeply then, and against his nature, he moaned, and kissed her back.
~*~
He saw disjointed images: Maya, the Necropolis Club, the dancers. He could hear the pounding of the club music. Maya again, dancing against him. He could almost feel her body against him. When he saw himself, he knew he was dreaming. The dream-Dean danced with Maya - was she real or a dream? - and the dream-Dean caressed her cheek and looked into her eyes. They were tinged with gold.
Dean saw the dream-Dean smile back, and as Dean looked at his dream-self, he realized he too had those odd golden eyes. He gave Maya a smile that reminded him of a kid keeping a secret. His dream-self had a pair of fangs.
Dean Winchester sat up in his bed in their motel room and gasped.
“Late night, Deano?” Sam asked, sitting up, fully dressed, on the other bed. Dean looked over at his brother, took in the sunlight threatening to invade through the closed curtains, and fell back on the pillow and groaned.
“What time is it?” he asked. He sounded like he'd swallowed a dozen frogs.
“10. Thought you wanted to leave at sunrise.”
Dean groaned again. That was the last time he ever drank anything. He raised his arm to read his watch. Damn, Sam had just told him what time it was. He didn’t even remember getting in after the club. He had, and he’d taken off his jacket and tossed it on one of the chairs. He’d kicked off his shoes, but that was it. He’d crashed in his clothes. He had one hell of a hangover.
“Sammy, car keys?” he croaked, hoping Sam understood him. Standing up from the bed he sat on watching his older brother, Sam went through his brother’s jacket pockets, and found the car keys in the right front pocket. Sam parted the curtains a crack, and saw the Impala out front.
“You didn’t drive the car drunk, did you?” Sam asked, closing the curtains and turning back to his brother, who was now sitting up again, and slowly trying to get out of the bed.
“Yanno, Sam, I think there’s something goin’ on around here. I want to stick around for a day or two.”
Sam sat back down on his rumpled covers and eyed Dean cautiously.
“Thought we were just passing through?”
“"Yeah, we were. But that was before last night.” Dean reached into his pocket, and found the roll of bills he’d palmed from last night still safely inside.
“You mean before…Maya, was her name?” Sam’s tone had an accusatory edge.
“Yeah,” Dean said, sounding tired. “Maya.”
“Do you even know what time you got in?”
Dean looked up at his brother, wondering where all this protectiveness had come from. A dark thought furrowed Dean’s brow, and it vaguely occurred to him that Sam might have had a vision that involved him, but that thought was fleeting.
“Not a clue, Sammy, not a clue,” Dean sighed. He braced himself, and slowly stood up. The room swam in front of his eyes, and he sank back down on the bed. “Do we have any aspirin? Something stronger?” He looked up at Sam, who was still wearing Dean’s “big-brother look.” “Scotch?” Dean asked, with a smart-ass grin.
Sam just shook his head. There were sometimes Dean was impossible, and this was starting to look like one of them.
“I’ll go see if that general store I stopped at last night has anything for you,” Sam offered. Dean smiled a weak thanks, and collapsed back on the bed as soon as Sam closed the motel door behind him.
~*~
The town was small, and Sam chose to walk. He couldn’t get the flashes out of his head: golden eyes, fangs, dance clubs...Maya. Would Dean even believe him that there was something evil about Maya?
They’d both been guilty of waiting until the last minute. Visions of Jess’ death tormented him nightly, and he hadn’t had a decent night of sleep since. Visions of Jenny and Sari, who’d moved into the old Winchester home, had brought Dean back to a place he didn’t want to go. And the look on Dean's face when Sam pulled that trigger at the Roosevelt Asylum. And now, visions of Maya, and Dean…with fangs?
There was something seriously wrong with that.
The general store was small, but Sam found some non-aspirin headache relief for Dean, and a few other impulse munchie buys for the next leg of their journey. After paying, Sam returned to the motel with his purchases, and when he opened the motel door, the afternoon sunlight coming into the room fell on a sleeping Dean. Sam shook his head and put the plastic store bag on the table.
Hell, if Dean could drink himself into oblivion, maybe it would work for Sam.
Traversing the same path as the night before, Sam found himself at the bar where Dean had actually lost at a game of pool. Sam chuckled at that thought as he sat at the bar and ordered a beer.
The sun was setting when Sam was ready to leave, but he had only ordered the one beer. He couldn’t do it. He’d only drank half of the beer that was in front of him anyway. Every time he raised the mug to his lips, he got another flash of Dean’s face...with fangs. He put the mug down, left a few bills on the bar, and returned to the motel. He only hoped he was in time.
~*~
Dean came alert to something cool on his face. He opened his eyes a bit, and saw to his right the red-orange glow of the sun creeping under the motel door. Sunset. Dean groaned. Had he really slept all damn day?
There was a warm drop that fell on his face this time. What the hell? He looked to his left, where the wall was. That left only one place. Up. He saw Maya above him, and for a moment he thought she, too, was pinned to the ceiling, a memory that belonged to his dad, but had been haunting him since he was four.
No, she hovered above him just a few feet, eyes golden, her fangs visible in her smile.
“You can’t be here,” Dean sat up, startled. “The sun hasn’t set yet.” Don't panic here, he told himself quite rationally, in spite of the fact there was a vampire in his motel room.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Dean Winchester, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“Great,” Dean muttered, slowly getting off the bed, keeping his eyes on Maya, and wiping his face where the drops had fallen. He looked at the back of his hand, and knew from the color smeared there it was blood. Hell, he'd seen that enough times. “A vamp who quotes Shakespeare.” Something occurred to him. “How did you get in here? Don't you guys have to be invited in? I was passed out.”
Maya floated down and now stood on the floor next to Dean. “Guess you don't remember.” She reached out and stroked his jaw lined with stubble. “You invited me in early this morning. We only need to be invited once,” she fairly purred.
She leaned into him and kissed his cheek, his neck, his ear. He put his head back with his eyes closed and moaned. He reached his arm out and drew her closer to him.
“Join me,” she whispered in his ear. His eyes snapped open.
“What?” his voice was husky.
“We need you. We need guys like you: young, pretty, sassy...”
“Yeah, I am pretty sassy,” he said looking at her now. His hand cupped her cheek and he drew her close for a kiss. After a moment, she ended the kiss and moved her lips to nip his ear, and slowly slid her tongue down his neck, where she kissed him. Dean rolled his head to the side, groaning quietly.
Maya lifted her head for a moment, and she knew her eyes were all golden, her fangs completely extended. Just as her fangs touched the tender skin on Dean’s neck, she felt warmth on her back, and tensed.
Dean felt her body go rigid, and knew something had changed; something could be wrong. She looked at him briefly, and in that instant Dean remembered his dream. Reaching behind him, as not to alert Maya, his fingers were searching for something - anything - a pen? - to grab onto - to use as a weapon.
Just as quickly as she’d gone rigid, her body jerked against Dean with a thud, then suddenly relaxed against him. And in that moment, Dean realized exactly what just happened.
“You would have been an asset. Both of you,” she said as she slid to the floor. Dean shook his head to clear the last remaining cobwebs of Maya’s enthrallment, and looked up.
Sam leaned against the doorjamb of the open motel room, the light from red setting sun streaming in. The younger Winchester held a crossbow, the bolt lodged firmly in Maya’s back, which was now starting to smolder. The sun’s rays, tasting something flammable, suddenly burst to life, consuming Maya. Dean scrambled out of the way, moving back anything flammable, as the flames charred the vampire.
He looked at Sam again, who had set the crossbow on the table next to the bag of stuff he’d bought for Dean only a few hours ago.
“I had a vision,” Sam explained.
“Yeah, that would do it,” Dean said. He looked back at what was Maya. “Thanks, bro,” Dean said without looking up at Sam.
Sam looked over at the charbroiled body. That would do it. “You ready?” he asked.
“Yep,” Dean said, pulling the bolt from the burnt body, and an arm fell from the frame. Sam took the crossbow to the car, and returned with a trash bag. They bundled the body as best they could into the bag. Although he wore his usual stoic mask, there was a bit of thoughtful slowness, almost reverence, for the way he handled the body. Dean mentally shook himself. She tried to turn you! he reminded himself, and completed the task uninterrupted.
There was a dumpster behind the motel where the brothers left the trash bag, and returned to the room. After returning the room to its original state as best they could - moving one of the beds to hide the burnt rug - they gathered their few bags together. Dean went over to the bed they didn’t move and grabbed his bag. He flashed a wolfish grin at Sam, and for a moment, Sam’s vision overlapped, and the fangs were there.
Dean saw a stunned look on Sam’s face, and thumped him on the back.
“C’mon, let’s blow this pizza joint,” Dean said, heading out to the car.
“Can’t believe you got yourself enthralled by a vampire,”" Sam snickered.
Dean whacked his brother lightly on the back of the head.
“Ah, shut up.”
~*~
The Winchester brothers would have made a great addition to our community, I never lied about that. It took me several nights to heal all the damage they’d done. Had I been one of our newer vampires, there’s no way I could have survived. Nigel was the one who recovered my body, and held my head until new tissue grew to strengthen it. Missing body parts regenerated on their own. That’s how old I am.
I’ve been through worse, and I’m sure I’ll be through more. I no longer use the name Maya, but I’m reminded of Sam and Dean Winchester every day. I still bear a circular scar between my shoulder blades from Sam's crossbolt. And a lot of men think it looks sexy.“The darkness aches
And tears away the strongest heart;
The music plays
The fire burns the soul apart.
The fever breaks
Cool rain is falling on our bed;
The time has come
The hunger’s longing to be fed...
You can’t turn back
You can’t turn back,
The night it bleeds in black;
The Hunger”
The story continues in " Deceiving Evil"...
***
Supernatural Fan Fiction
For entertainment only
© 2005 by Caren Franco
Only Maya and Nigel are original. Beta-read by Maygra and Diamondback. Title and a few lines by Diamondback. Dean and Sam Winchester, Jessica Lee Moore, Jenny and Sari, and Roosevelt Asylum were created by Eric Kripke, Robert Singer, Kripke Enterprises Scrap Metal and Entertainment; and Warner Brothers. “Bloodletting (The Vampire Song)” from “Bloodletting” by Concrete Blonde ©1990. “The Hunger” sung by Lori Yates, produced by Meissner Music Production and Fred Mollin , ©1996. “If It’s Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium,” directed by Mel Stuart, ©1969. Modified quote from Hamlet, by William Shakespeare, written circa 1601.
Title: Chosen
Rating: sexual innuendos; language
Category: Canon; Teen/General
Characters: mostly Dean, some Sam, and my own character. (credits nuendos; language
Category: Canon; Teen/General
Characters: mostly Dean, some Sam, and my own character. (credits at the end)
Pairing: Dean/Maya
Spoilers: season 1, afat the end)
Pairing: Dean/Maya
Spoilers: season 1, after Asylum
Notable Credits: thanks to maygra and diamondback158 for the beta-reads, and diamondback158 for the title idea.
Summary: Rule #1 of Pool Hustling: Don’t Hustle the Hustler.I got the ways and means
to New Orleans
I'm going down by the river
where it's warm and green
I'm gonna have a drink
and walk around
I gotta lot to think about, oh yeah...
~ Concrete Blonde, ©1990
It was just another slow night at the bar where I work, customers drinking too much, betting too much on pool, and getting into bar fights, which just get them thrown out. You see a lot of shit, working in a bar, and I get no less of it. Maybe I even get more than my share.
These days, I call myself Maya, but I don't even remember if that's my real name. But it works for me. And that night, things got real interesting when a young man named Dean Winchester walked into the bar and sat down in my favorite barstool.
I knew I'd met my mark. I mean, my match.
~*~
It was another small town. They were all the same, reflected Dean Winchester as he surveyed the patrons of the local bar. If it's Tuesday, this must be Belgium, wasn’t that how the movie went?
He sat at the bar, watching the bartender in her too-tight shirt pouring drinks for the guys wearing their flannel shirts and jeans; watching the television mounted in the ceiling showing highlights of a sports team he’d never even heard of; watching the front door for Sam's return from the local mini-mart they’d passed on the way here.
Wherever “here” was this time.
He was most interested in who was at the pool table, how they were playing, and who was likely going to be his mark. More guys in flannel shirts, jeans, and black boots. This was gonna be a tough town, Dean thought, until she walked in.
She carried a pool stick like a baton, and strutted like she was the leader of the parade. Her jeans hugged her curves quite nicely, Dean noticed, his eyebrows raising. When she turned, Dean noticed her baby-doll tee shirt afforded him a slight peek at the tight skin underneath. She was waif-like, didn’t look like she'd had a boob job, and her deep red lips were pouty.
Her face looked like porcelain, and almost as white too. Her shoulder-length jet black hair shimmered under the cheesy lights over the tables, and her eyes reminded Dean of a nice, tall mug of beer. Way to go, dude, the elder Winchester thought to himself. Cheapen the moment.
He watched her bend over the table, wiggle her butt a little - just for the guys watching her - and tried to shoot her pool stick at the cue ball. She missed, and giggled. Dean just smiled slyly. He’d found his next victim.
When the girl - who Dean guessed to be about Sam’s age of 22 - was finished with her game, such as it was, she came over to the bar to order a drink. She sat on the stool next to Dean and sipped the amber liquid thoughtfully.
Dean watched her, a bit of a smirk on his face, waiting to ask her if she wanted to try a game of pool with him, maybe he could show her some tips?
She sat, looking at her beer mug, and spoke to Dean.
“I can feel you watching me,” she said with a slightly British lilt. Then she tilted her head to look over at Dean, and his goofy grin. She motioned to her pool stick, which was propped up against her stool. “Interested in a game of eight-ball?” she asked.
“Uh... I, uh,” Dean was caught off guard. How did that happen? “Sure,” he said, his voice husky. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. What, he'd never had a girl ask him for a game of pool? He had just watched her shoot pool by herself, and hoped she'd do that bad just enough for Dean to pay for their room for that night.
The first few games, Dean was feeling good. They’d only wagered $20 to $30 on each game, and Dean won easily each time. So when she proposed double or nothing, Dean figured another $140 wouldn’t hurt his cache.
She smiled at him, and provocatively chalked the end of her pool stick. Dean actually stared at her, not believing what she was actually insinuating. When she broke the racked pool balls, Dean came out of his revelry. He watched the balls roll in all directions across the green felt table, and heard one drop in the pocket. He looked around the table, and noticed one missing.
“Holy crap,” he muttered as he looked in the pockets, until he found the one he was looking for. Inside was the eight ball. Damn it, but he’d been had.
She walked around the table to Dean and leaned up against him. He was standing at the side of the table where they’d placed the money, and when she came over to him, he instinctively put his hand down on the money. She put her hand down on top of his. It was cool to the touch.
She reached up with her other hand to caress his stubbly cheek, and whispered in his ear.
“I believe that’s mine.”
“I can’t believe you did that.” he returned.
“Did what?” she breathed. Her lips were close to his, it would be so easy for him to just turn, and kiss - where did that come from? He cleared the cobwebs from his mind.
“You don’t beat The Dean,” he boasted.
“I do. Tell you what...” she said, now looking at his hand on the pool table, and tracing his fingers with her perfectly manicured blood-red nails. She looked back up. “...you help me, and I'll give you this money back.”
Dean’s voice was tight when he spoke. Did she not know what her caress was doing to him?
“Help you with what?” he finally asked, his voice husky.
The front door slammed open. “Hey, Dean!” Sam called, coming over to the pool table where he'd seen his older brother. It was then he noticed the woman draped over Dean. “I, uh, I’ll be in the car.” Sam started to leave.
Dean stepped back from the woman, and gestured to Sam. It was only Sam who noticed Dean palming the money on the bumper of the table, but only because he’d seen Dean do that before. “My brother, Sammy,” he told the woman, who gave Sam a little wave. Dean turned to the woman, “And you are?”
“Maya,” she said, smiling at Sam.
“She needs our help, Sam.”
“Actually,” Maya said, putting her hand on Dean’s cheek again and turning him to face her. “It’s your help I need,” she whispered. And then she kissed him.
~*~
“So let me get this right,” Dean said sometime later, after Sam had gone back to the motel room. Dean knew he needed sleep, sleep uninterrupted by visions of Jessica, and only by ordering Sam to stay in the room and get the sleep he so badly needed was the only way the younger Winchester would get it. Now, Dean was still at the bar, with another beer, with Maya on the next stool facing him, her hand high on his thigh.
“You want me,” he said taking a pull on his beer, “to be your date at this club?”
“That’s exactly right,” she purred, watching his every movement intently, no matter how small it seemed. His Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his eyes watching her, the pulsing in his neck...
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?” he asked. There was something about her, he’d decided. And he was going to help her. That was what he did after all - help people. Lately, they’d all been of a supernatural nature, but a date? Why the hell not? He was allowed to have some fun from time to time. He wasn’t the one having visions that woke him up in a cold sweat.
“It’s the rules of the club, the Necropolis. You need to have a date. No singles allowed.”
Hmm. “Really?” he raised his eyebrows.
She squeezed his thigh, and then stroked his cheek with her fingernails. “Really,” she said softly, seductively, like a caress of words.
“Uhm... Yeah, uh, why me?” This was bad, faltering like this twice in a couple of hours.
“Why not?” she asked. “Don’t you want to come with me?”
Oh yeah, I’ll go anywhere with you, he said silently. “Sure. But I like to know what I’m getting myself into before picking up strange ladies in a bar.”
She smiled. “I was the one who picked you up,” she pointed out.
“Ahh,” he said, smiling at her, and then turning back for another pull on his amber drink. What was happening to him? He never had these chick flick moments before now. He hated them. She was affecting him somehow.
Leaving the local bar was a blur to Dean, an experience he would later file away as one not to repeat. He couldn’t remember driving though the little town, but he was getting out of his Impala outside the Necropolis a short drive later. The Necropolis Club was housed in an abandoned warehouse, creating a massive club with several floors for the dancers; and numerous rooms for couples, drug users, and others looking for privacy.
Dean and Maya could hear the thumping of the bass beat even before they reached the door. There was only a short line to get into the club, and within a few moments, they were at the door.
“Maya, good to finally see you here,” the bouncer said stiffly, but oddly welcoming.
“Thanks, Nigel,” she said. “This is Dean.” She introduced Dean to Nigel, who was not impressed. Nigel stood six-and-a-half feet tall, a good six inches taller than Dean, and Nigel was solid. Dean wouldn’t want to meet him alone in a dark alleyway. Maya wound her arm around Dean's waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Hi,” Dean smiled reluctantly, and gave Nigel a little wave. Nigel didn’t even twitch.
As Maya settled her hand into Dean’s back pocket, they walked into the club together. What was going on here? Dean wondered, not for the first time. There was something about this that didn’t seem right, but he’d be damned if he knew what it was. He couldn’t think straight enough to stop and try to figure it out. All he did know was that he wanted to be with Maya. But he couldn’t explain why. And there still was a small part of his mind that wanted to know why. But Dean paid no heed to that part.
Beer in one hand, Maya holding the other, Dean experienced all that was to be had at the club. He actually danced with Maya, who was shimmying against his body the whole night, and leaving him with quite an erection.
By the early morning hours, both were dancing against each other, moving seductively to the music. They were almost making love through their clothes. Each time Dean’s mug was emptied, Maya called over a waitress to refill it for her. Dean noticed through his haze she was drinking a deep red wine, but not nearly as much as Dean had to drink.
Dean leaned over and spoke in Maya’s ear.
“I have to give you something, Maya,” he slurred slightly. Maya turned to look at him, her eyebrows now raised. He pressed something metal into her hands, and she knew it was his car keys.
“I gotta get back to the motel. My brother and I supposed to leave in the morning. And I can’t drive. You gotta take me there.”
Maya turned Dean's face towards her. She lightly kissed his soft lips. “You’re drunk,” she said softly.
“I know,” he agreed. She kissed him deeply then, and against his nature, he moaned, and kissed her back.
~*~
He saw disjointed images: Maya, the Necropolis Club, the dancers. He could hear the pounding of the club music. Maya again, dancing against him. He could almost feel her body against him. When he saw himself, he knew he was dreaming. The dream-Dean danced with Maya - was she real or a dream? - and the dream-Dean caressed her cheek and looked into her eyes. They were tinged with gold.
Dean saw the dream-Dean smile back, and as Dean looked at his dream-self, he realized he too had those odd golden eyes. He gave Maya a smile that reminded him of a kid keeping a secret. His dream-self had a pair of fangs.
Dean Winchester sat up in his bed in their motel room and gasped.
“Late night, Deano?” Sam asked, sitting up, fully dressed, on the other bed. Dean looked over at his brother, took in the sunlight threatening to invade through the closed curtains, and fell back on the pillow and groaned.
“What time is it?” he asked. He sounded like he'd swallowed a dozen frogs.
“10. Thought you wanted to leave at sunrise.”
Dean groaned again. That was the last time he ever drank anything. He raised his arm to read his watch. Damn, Sam had just told him what time it was. He didn’t even remember getting in after the club. He had, and he’d taken off his jacket and tossed it on one of the chairs. He’d kicked off his shoes, but that was it. He’d crashed in his clothes. He had one hell of a hangover.
“Sammy, car keys?” he croaked, hoping Sam understood him. Standing up from the bed he sat on watching his older brother, Sam went through his brother’s jacket pockets, and found the car keys in the right front pocket. Sam parted the curtains a crack, and saw the Impala out front.
“You didn’t drive the car drunk, did you?” Sam asked, closing the curtains and turning back to his brother, who was now sitting up again, and slowly trying to get out of the bed.
“Yanno, Sam, I think there’s something goin’ on around here. I want to stick around for a day or two.”
Sam sat back down on his rumpled covers and eyed Dean cautiously.
“Thought we were just passing through?”
“"Yeah, we were. But that was before last night.” Dean reached into his pocket, and found the roll of bills he’d palmed from last night still safely inside.
“You mean before…Maya, was her name?” Sam’s tone had an accusatory edge.
“Yeah,” Dean said, sounding tired. “Maya.”
“Do you even know what time you got in?”
Dean looked up at his brother, wondering where all this protectiveness had come from. A dark thought furrowed Dean’s brow, and it vaguely occurred to him that Sam might have had a vision that involved him, but that thought was fleeting.
“Not a clue, Sammy, not a clue,” Dean sighed. He braced himself, and slowly stood up. The room swam in front of his eyes, and he sank back down on the bed. “Do we have any aspirin? Something stronger?” He looked up at Sam, who was still wearing Dean’s “big-brother look.” “Scotch?” Dean asked, with a smart-ass grin.
Sam just shook his head. There were sometimes Dean was impossible, and this was starting to look like one of them.
“I’ll go see if that general store I stopped at last night has anything for you,” Sam offered. Dean smiled a weak thanks, and collapsed back on the bed as soon as Sam closed the motel door behind him.
~*~
The town was small, and Sam chose to walk. He couldn’t get the flashes out of his head: golden eyes, fangs, dance clubs...Maya. Would Dean even believe him that there was something evil about Maya?
They’d both been guilty of waiting until the last minute. Visions of Jess’ death tormented him nightly, and he hadn’t had a decent night of sleep since. Visions of Jenny and Sari, who’d moved into the old Winchester home, had brought Dean back to a place he didn’t want to go. And the look on Dean's face when Sam pulled that trigger at the Roosevelt Asylum. And now, visions of Maya, and Dean…with fangs?
There was something seriously wrong with that.
The general store was small, but Sam found some non-aspirin headache relief for Dean, and a few other impulse munchie buys for the next leg of their journey. After paying, Sam returned to the motel with his purchases, and when he opened the motel door, the afternoon sunlight coming into the room fell on a sleeping Dean. Sam shook his head and put the plastic store bag on the table.
Hell, if Dean could drink himself into oblivion, maybe it would work for Sam.
Traversing the same path as the night before, Sam found himself at the bar where Dean had actually lost at a game of pool. Sam chuckled at that thought as he sat at the bar and ordered a beer.
The sun was setting when Sam was ready to leave, but he had only ordered the one beer. He couldn’t do it. He’d only drank half of the beer that was in front of him anyway. Every time he raised the mug to his lips, he got another flash of Dean’s face...with fangs. He put the mug down, left a few bills on the bar, and returned to the motel. He only hoped he was in time.
~*~
Dean came alert to something cool on his face. He opened his eyes a bit, and saw to his right the red-orange glow of the sun creeping under the motel door. Sunset. Dean groaned. Had he really slept all damn day?
There was a warm drop that fell on his face this time. What the hell? He looked to his left, where the wall was. That left only one place. Up. He saw Maya above him, and for a moment he thought she, too, was pinned to the ceiling, a memory that belonged to his dad, but had been haunting him since he was four.
No, she hovered above him just a few feet, eyes golden, her fangs visible in her smile.
“You can’t be here,” Dean sat up, startled. “The sun hasn’t set yet.” Don't panic here, he told himself quite rationally, in spite of the fact there was a vampire in his motel room.
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Dean Winchester, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“Great,” Dean muttered, slowly getting off the bed, keeping his eyes on Maya, and wiping his face where the drops had fallen. He looked at the back of his hand, and knew from the color smeared there it was blood. Hell, he'd seen that enough times. “A vamp who quotes Shakespeare.” Something occurred to him. “How did you get in here? Don't you guys have to be invited in? I was passed out.”
Maya floated down and now stood on the floor next to Dean. “Guess you don't remember.” She reached out and stroked his jaw lined with stubble. “You invited me in early this morning. We only need to be invited once,” she fairly purred.
She leaned into him and kissed his cheek, his neck, his ear. He put his head back with his eyes closed and moaned. He reached his arm out and drew her closer to him.
“Join me,” she whispered in his ear. His eyes snapped open.
“What?” his voice was husky.
“We need you. We need guys like you: young, pretty, sassy...”
“Yeah, I am pretty sassy,” he said looking at her now. His hand cupped her cheek and he drew her close for a kiss. After a moment, she ended the kiss and moved her lips to nip his ear, and slowly slid her tongue down his neck, where she kissed him. Dean rolled his head to the side, groaning quietly.
Maya lifted her head for a moment, and she knew her eyes were all golden, her fangs completely extended. Just as her fangs touched the tender skin on Dean’s neck, she felt warmth on her back, and tensed.
Dean felt her body go rigid, and knew something had changed; something could be wrong. She looked at him briefly, and in that instant Dean remembered his dream. Reaching behind him, as not to alert Maya, his fingers were searching for something - anything - a pen? - to grab onto - to use as a weapon.
Just as quickly as she’d gone rigid, her body jerked against Dean with a thud, then suddenly relaxed against him. And in that moment, Dean realized exactly what just happened.
“You would have been an asset. Both of you,” she said as she slid to the floor. Dean shook his head to clear the last remaining cobwebs of Maya’s enthrallment, and looked up.
Sam leaned against the doorjamb of the open motel room, the light from red setting sun streaming in. The younger Winchester held a crossbow, the bolt lodged firmly in Maya’s back, which was now starting to smolder. The sun’s rays, tasting something flammable, suddenly burst to life, consuming Maya. Dean scrambled out of the way, moving back anything flammable, as the flames charred the vampire.
He looked at Sam again, who had set the crossbow on the table next to the bag of stuff he’d bought for Dean only a few hours ago.
“I had a vision,” Sam explained.
“Yeah, that would do it,” Dean said. He looked back at what was Maya. “Thanks, bro,” Dean said without looking up at Sam.
Sam looked over at the charbroiled body. That would do it. “You ready?” he asked.
“Yep,” Dean said, pulling the bolt from the burnt body, and an arm fell from the frame. Sam took the crossbow to the car, and returned with a trash bag. They bundled the body as best they could into the bag. Although he wore his usual stoic mask, there was a bit of thoughtful slowness, almost reverence, for the way he handled the body. Dean mentally shook himself. She tried to turn you! he reminded himself, and completed the task uninterrupted.
There was a dumpster behind the motel where the brothers left the trash bag, and returned to the room. After returning the room to its original state as best they could - moving one of the beds to hide the burnt rug - they gathered their few bags together. Dean went over to the bed they didn’t move and grabbed his bag. He flashed a wolfish grin at Sam, and for a moment, Sam’s vision overlapped, and the fangs were there.
Dean saw a stunned look on Sam’s face, and thumped him on the back.
“C’mon, let’s blow this pizza joint,” Dean said, heading out to the car.
“Can’t believe you got yourself enthralled by a vampire,”" Sam snickered.
Dean whacked his brother lightly on the back of the head.
“Ah, shut up.”
~*~
The Winchester brothers would have made a great addition to our community, I never lied about that. It took me several nights to heal all the damage they’d done. Had I been one of our newer vampires, there’s no way I could have survived. Nigel was the one who recovered my body, and held my head until new tissue grew to strengthen it. Missing body parts regenerated on their own. That’s how old I am.
I’ve been through worse, and I’m sure I’ll be through more. I no longer use the name Maya, but I’m reminded of Sam and Dean Winchester every day. I still bear a circular scar between my shoulder blades from Sam's crossbolt. And a lot of men think it looks sexy.“The darkness aches
And tears away the strongest heart;
The music plays
The fire burns the soul apart.
The fever breaks
Cool rain is falling on our bed;
The time has come
The hunger’s longing to be fed...
You can’t turn back
You can’t turn back,
The night it bleeds in black;
The Hunger”
The story continues in " Deceiving Evil"...
***
Supernatural Fan Fiction
For entertainment only
© 2005 by Caren Franco
Only Maya and Nigel are original. Beta-read by Maygra and Diamondback. Title and a few lines by Diamondback. Dean and Sam Winchester, Jessica Lee Moore, Jenny and Sari, and Roosevelt Asylum were created by Eric Kripke, Robert Singer, Kripke Enterprises Scrap Metal and Entertainment; and Warner Brothers. “Bloodletting (The Vampire Song)” from “Bloodletting” by Concrete Blonde ©1990. “The Hunger” sung by Lori Yates, produced by Meissner Music Production and Fred Mollin , ©1996. “If It’s Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium,” directed by Mel Stuart, ©1969. Modified quote from Hamlet, by William Shakespeare, written circa 1601.