Summary: Tonight is the night to fulfill your and your husband's hottest fantasies.
Pairing: Jeffrey Dean Morgan/Reader, Jensen Ackles/Reader/Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles/Danneel Harris/Jared Padalecki
Rating: E/18+
Tags/Advertisement: Open Marriage, Open Relationship, Sex Club, Public Sex, Voyeurism, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex (m and f receiving), Spitroasting, Double Penetration (p in v, p in a), Multiple orgasms (it's pwp okay, pure pwp)
AO3 Link
for the @spnkinkevents Kink Bingo square: Spitroasting
You take a deep breath as you pull open the heavy door. The air inside is warm but still you shiver, naked as you are, save for the intricate black mask covering the top half of your face. The thumping beat of the music vibrates through you, making the soles of your feet tingle. Still, it’s not loud enough to drown out the sounds of sex all around you: the slapping of flesh, guttural groans, moans and sighs and screams.
You furtively glance back at your husband who you know has entered the room just after you. Jeff nods to you, eyes sparkling, before he walks by you and over to where they are serving drinks.
Your stomach flutters with nerves as you survey the room. While you had agreed to this, it’s still a little unnerving to be here, naked and exposed. You can feel people’s eyes on you, strangers’ eyes, roving over you top to bottom, and you barely resist the urge to cover yourself as you move deeper into the room. There are people fucking on every available surface, and probably just as many lounging around and watching, and you clench your thighs against that first tingle of arousal as you hear a woman to your left moan brokenly as she’s bounced in someone’s lap. That could be you. Probably is going to be you in the not-too-distant future. Fuck.
You jump when a finger softly trails down your arm, a warm body pressing in close behind you. It’s not your husband—you’d know him anywhere. This is—someone else. You will your pounding heart to calm down as you turn around to face the stranger.
He’s tall and half of his face is obscured by a black mask just like yours. He has a nice mouth, though, plush lips, a strong jawline, stubble. Your lips pull into a small smile when you notice a cluster of freckles at the base of his throat. It’s a small detail to focus on but it makes it feel more familiar; this isn’t something you’d know about a random stranger.
He takes your hand, thumbs at the wedding band on your ring finger. “You gonna get me in trouble?” he asks, and you shiver at the sound of his voice, low and teasing.
You swallow dryly, then shake your head. This is as much for your husband as it is for you.
His lips pull into a grin, and you gasp when he easily spins you back around. You can feel him against the small of your back, hard and—God, big, and he palms your tits as his mouth latches onto your neck. It’s really happening.
You groan in anticipation when one big palm skirts down your stomach while he nudges your legs wider with his foot at the inside of yours. All your muscles tense as you wait for him to touch you, right here in front of all these strangers.
Your head tips back onto his shoulder with a soft whine and he chuckles into your ear as his hand slides between your legs, barely grazing your clit as his fingers go straight between your folds, a fingertip resting teasingly against your entrance. You are getting more aroused by the second, your heartbeat pulsing in your clit.
His finger briefly dips into you before sliding up to your clit, spreading your wetness and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves until you clench your thighs around his fingers.
“Ah ah, none of that,” he chides as his foot kicks your legs wider, exposing you to the view of everyone in front of you.
It’s exhilarating, thinking about all these strangers watching you, seeing you like this, naked and vulnerable and so, so aroused. You make a noise of protest when his hand disappears and it morphs into a groan when he sucks his finger into his mouth, tasting you. He hums into your ear, says, “Delicious,” as he grinds himself against your ass, your skin already sticky with his precome. You wonder if he’s going to take you right here, like this, if he’ll hitch up your leg and—
He releases you with a pinch of your nipple and a slap to your ass. “Come,” he says, guiding you along with a hand on the small of your back to the open bed just a few feet away. He urges you to lie down and as you do, you see Jeff from the corner of your eyes as he settles in an open spot across, idly stroking himself as he watches you settle in the middle of the bed, legs spread wide.
Wide palms smoothing up your thighs draw your attention back to Freckles. His eyes are sparkling mischievously behind his mask as he grips your hips and pulls you forward. The new position leaves you utterly exposed with his hands tilting your hips up and your legs falling wide, and you bite your lip when your eyes meet your husband’s, his gaze half-lidded as he groans softly. You can’t hear over the noise, but you know; you can see his lips part and his hand speed up on his cock.
You smile, entirely unprepared for the sensation of a mouth on your pussy. Your hips jump and an arm comes down over them to hold you down as he licks you taint to clit. You can’t help a moan at the wet heat on your pussy, the teasing tongue, the toe-curling suction. Your fingers twist into Freckles’ hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away, and his lips curve into a smile against your flesh.
Your back arches when two fingers enter you without warning, squelching through your wetness, as he attacks your clit again. You do hear Jeff’s moan this time and echo it, loud and unashamed, hips bucking as much as they can under the restriction.
Your orgasm is building fast, curling tight in your belly, tingling up your spine. His fingers speed up, relentlessly hitting your g-spot as he continues to devour your pussy. You scream your pleasure a moment later, the intensity overwhelming, your muscles locking, pussy clenching around the fingers still slowly stroking into you.
You whimper when he sucks at your clit again, the feeling almost too much. You ease your grip on his hair and he noses into the crease of your thigh instead, stubble bristling at the inside of your thigh, fingers still inside of you, as you try to catch your breath.
You are still reeling from your orgasm when the fingers start to move again, slowly, before a third presses in. Just like that, you’re teetering on the edge again, that first flutter of another orgasm starting deep in your belly. You mewl in frustration when he withdraws his fingers a second before you can crash over the edge. He laughs, slaps your pussy, before three fingers drive back into you hard and fast only to leave you hanging right on the precipice again, muscles fluttering around the sudden emptiness.
“Fuck,” you cry breathlessly, jerking for his hot breath on your sensitized flesh, the kiss he sucks to your clit.
Freckles hauls you upright, takes your place on the bed before he pulls you into his lap. You go easily, your legs like jelly as you straddle him and rub yourself along the length of his hard dick, your core aching in anticipation. His hands go to your hips, guiding you, and his head tips back, mouth open in a pant. It’s a gorgeous sight.
Feeling bold, you lean forward, suck and nibble on the cluster of freckles, lick up his throat and suck on his Adam’s apple. His moan vibrates under your lips as his grip tightens on your hips. You sit back, brace yourself on his chest with one hand as you shift up onto your knees, using your other hand to guide his cock to your entrance.
Your gaze flickers to Jeff, who is watching you as you sink down, taking just the flared head. You gasp, and your husband licks his lips, strokes his cock, his eyes fixed between your legs.
Freckles’ hands flexing on your hips have you tearing your eyes away and refocusing on the cock working its way into you. It’s thick, just the way you like it, and you are panting a little harder the lower you work yourself. There are more people watching you, men and women alike getting off to the sight of you fucking this stranger, and you close your eyes, stutter out a breath as you sink down the last inch. You moan at the fullness, your fingers curling into Freckles’ chest as he starts thrusting up into you, ratcheting your pleasure right up to the edge again. Just a little more—
You gasp in surprise at the sudden pressure on your clit, at the presence of a third, new hand touching your body. You can’t see who it belongs to but it’s big and its touch is sending you flying almost immediately, clenching hard around the cock buried deep inside of you as you tip over the edge again, your thighs shaking with the intensity of your orgasm.
You slump forward with a moan, only to have those big hands slide up your body and palm your tits, hauling you upright again, keeping you bouncing on Freckles’ cock. It’s almost too much, the stimulation too intense, and you throw your head back on a keen when your nipples get pinched, rolled, pulled.
Freckles laughs breathlessly as he slows his pace, his gaze somewhere over your shoulder. He nods, and the hands leave your tits, grab your hips and lift—lift you off Freckles’ cock with a wet squelch that makes your cheeks heat, your pussy clenching on nothing.
Freckles shifts back and onto his knees, grinning, and you don’t have the time to question what he knows that you don’t before the big guy holding you drops you onto the bed, rearranging you onto your hands and knees.
Freckles brushes your hair out of your face, slaps his hard cock against your lips, smears precome and your own juices onto your skin. You shiver, your mind reeling with the overwhelming intensity of the situation. “C’mon,” he urges quietly, and you wet your lips before placing a kiss on the weeping tip, teasing him just a little. He growls, a deep, rumbly sound that whispers down your spine, and you open your mouth and let him push in on a shallow thrust, and your combined tastes burst on your tongue salty-bitter, making you groan.
“Go easy,” Freckles says, and you don’t understand until—until you feel the pressure of a cock against your entrance, and it enters you easily, almost too smoothly, with the slick squelch of—lube, you think, and you pant around the cock in your mouth as you try to process the dual sensations.
Your hands curl into the bed when you are starting to feel full. But Big Guy, he keeps pushing, going deeper, and you tense, your eyes going wide as you look up at Freckles. He cups your cheek, thumbs at your earlobe, says, “I know it’s a lot, sweetie, just a little more, promise it’s worth it,” before he languidly rolls his hips, slides his cock over your tongue and to the back of your mouth.
You make a soft noise in your throat, your body trembling as it tries to adjust. Freckles keeps fucking into your mouth in shallow strokes, rubbing himself over your tongue, his hand resting lightly on top of your head, guiding, angling, but not forcing.
Behind you Big Guy moans as he finally bottoms out and you gasp, the air stolen from your lungs with how deep inside of you he feels. His first thrust sends you scampering forward, onto the cock in your mouth, and you cough when it hits the back of your throat too quickly. Big Guy pulls you back, his hands holding you tight as he feeds his cock back in balls deep, making you whimper and moan.
It takes a few moments for the intense fullness to turn into pleasure, but when it does you arch your back and press back into the feeling. Big Guy laughs and slaps your ass for it, right and left, while Freckles is relentlessly working your throat open with little thrusts that send him a fraction deeper into you on every one.
That first full push into your throat still makes you gag, your whole body going tight and making Big Guy curse under his breath for the clench of your cunt.
Your eyes water and your cheeks heat. You can do this, have done this for Jeff, but with the two cocks working you into a frenzy and your skin prickling under the gaze of God only knows how many strangers, you can’t focus enough to put your best efforts forward.
Big Guy slows his movements, palms your ass, spreads your cheeks, but it’s Freckles drawing your attention with a tug on your hair as his hips rolls forward again to bury his cock into your mouth and throat. You suck in a breath through your nose before he sinks himself in all the way, and you swallow against the intrusion, drawing a groan.
You wish you could see your husband right now, see how much he enjoys seeing you like this, get some reassurance. But you can’t move enough to see him, not like this.
You gasp when Freckles pulls back and gives you a moment to breathe. At the same time, Big Guy settles into an easy rhythm—too easy, almost teasing, you think—and then you feel a thumb circling your ass, slick and teasing, pulsing against your hole, and for a moment you think you can’t take any more, can’t take another sensation added to the mix.
You whine softly when the finger presses in at the same time as Big Guy pushes himself deep again.
“Fuck, yeah,” Freckles chuckles breathlessly, “you think you can take us both, sweetie?”
His thumb strokes the hollow of your cheek, almost gentle, and you are torn between nodding and shaking your head, your mind reeling at the sheer possibility of—
“Yeah, I think you can,” Freckles drawls in that deep voice and you close your eyes for a second, overwhelmed with the stimulation, with the deep pressure of a cock in your pussy, the pleasurable tingle of a finger fucking your ass, the hot weight of a cock on your tongue. Overwhelmed with the thought of having one of them fuck your ass instead.
Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere on Big Guy’s next stroke in, shuddering through you in waves, your body trembling in their hold. Big Guy fucks you right through it, though the tight clutch of your muscles on his cock, his slick skin hitting yours on every thrust as he sneaks a second finger into your ass.
You make a strangled noise, somewhere between a moan and a whimper as you keep shivering through the last tremors of your pleasure.
“She ready?” you hear Freckles ask through the fog in your brain, and Big Guy’s fingers plunge into your ass a couple more times, scissoring on the way out.
“Yeah, you’re ready, aren’t you sweetie?” Freckles asks as he pulls out of your mouth, his spit-shiny cock bobbing right in front of your face when you look up at him to nod.
Big Guy hauls you upright again, those big hands cupping your tits and you gasp for how deep it sends him. You look over to your husband, his eyes on you and only you despite the redhead on her knees sucking his cock, his lip caught between his teeth, his hands flexing restlessly on the girl’s head. You know it’s all because of you, not her.
“Hey,” Freckles says, as he grabs your chin and makes you look at him again. For a second you wonder if he’s going to kiss you, but then his gaze darts over your shoulder again and he nods as he pats your cheek.
“Fuck,” you whine as Big Guy withdraws slowly, leaving you quivering, achingly empty, his fingers rolling your nipples as he keeps holding you upright, making you watch Freckles lie back and lube his cock, leaving no doubt about what’s going to happen.
You swallow, tasting the remnants of Freckles in your mouth, as Big Guy mouths on your neck, his breath hot-damp on your skin.
“Go on,” Big Guy murmurs against your ear as he lets you go, his voice smooth and silky.
Freckles holds his hand out to you and you take it, letting him pull you towards him. His hand is sticky with lube, leaving your skin sticky as well as he manhandles you into his lap, your back to his chest.
It brings you face to face with Big Guy for the first time; your eyes wandering up his body, from that long, thick cock up over chiseled abs and a defined chest to a strong jaw, over the plain black mask to shaggy brown hair, his skin glistening with sweat. Good God. Your eyes drop back down again, and you wonder how in the hell you even managed to fit him into your body.
He grins at you as though he knows where your thoughts have gone.
You are distracted again by Freckles circling your clit as he slaps his slicked-up cock against your cunt a few times. It’s Big Guy who knees closer, though, and guides Freckles’ cock to your ass.
Freckles groans, the sound vibrating against your back as he mindlessly strokes the back of your thighs, holding you open. There’s only pressure and you try your best to relax, your lips parting in a breathless gasp when the tip pops in.
Freckles pants into your ear, his grip on your legs tightening as he slowly circles his hips up, sliding himself deeper.
“Oh my God,” you cry out when Big Guy drives three fingers into your cunt at the same time and presses down. Freckles’ hips stutter, his voice shaky as he curses colorfully into your ear. Your back arches when Big Guy fingerfucks you hard, making you shake and moan as he drags another orgasm out of you.
“C’mon, stop playing,” Freckles rasps, his hands splaying over your stomach as Big Guy moves in close enough to keep your legs from closing. You stop breathing for the moment he breaches you again, for the incredible fullness of two cocks inside of you.
You catch one last glimpse of Jeff with his head thrown back, hips lifting to fuck into the redhead’s throat as he comes, before your vision is filled with Big Guy as he buries himself deep inside your pussy again.
“Fuck,” you whine weakly, sandwiched between these two strangers, filled so deeply it feels like you can’t breathe.
Freckles coos breathless little nothings from beneath you as they settle into a maddening rhythm that has you scrambling for purchase, your fingernails digging into Big Guy’s shoulders as you try to hang on.
It seems impossible to come again, but against all odds you can feel the pleasure curling tight in your belly again.
“Fuck, I can feel you, Jay, that’s so fucking hot,” Freckles pants as his hand presses down low on your belly, before he grabs one of your hands and makes you feel it, too.
Big Guy—Jay, you suppose—pulls back and buries himself to the hilt again. You feel it inside and out, and when Freckles presses down on your hand, the pleasure sparks up another notch. You whimper, too overwhelmed to form words, your body tensing in anticipation of the inevitable.
You are going to come again. You can feel it building with each push and pull and Jay grabs your chin, makes you look at him as he fucks you hard and fast.
“C’mon, one more,” he urges.
Freckles presses down on your belly again, mouths at your neck, his breath hot as he says right against your ear, “Give us one more, sweetie. Wanna feel you come all over our cocks, c’mon.”
It’s his fingertip on your clit that sends you into an earth-shattering fifth orgasm a moment later and they fuck you through it, rhythms finally faltering as they follow you over the edge, both of them holding deep as they come inside of you, groaning their release.
You ride the last waves of pleasure, the tension starting to leave your body. Their hands are still stroking your body, soft and gentle now, their breaths on your overheated skin making you shiver. You feel exhausted now that the fog in your mind is clearing, the little pains and aches starting to set in.
Jay thumbs at your jawline, shifting your focus back to him. “You good?” he asks and you nod shakily and lick your dry lips.
“Yeah,” you say, your voice cracking on the one syllable. He smiles at you, wide, all teeth, his hand skimming down your side as he starts to pull out.
Another shiver wrecks your body for the slow drag of his cock and you gasp when he pops free, leaving you so empty. He drags two fingers through your folds, traces your entrance and then down lower to where Freckles is still buried inside you, and you can’t help a soft mewl. You are not sure how much more you can take.
Freckles shushes you, runs a soothing hand over your ribs. Your eyes dart to your husband who looks just as fucked out as you feel, his mouth curving into a lazy smile. You sigh in satisfaction, happy that you both got what you wanted tonight.
Jay’s big hands settle on your hips and carefully lift you off of Freckles’ cock and you can’t help a soft whine at the loss and the emptiness, the slow trickle of cum down the inside of your thigh. He sets you down on your feet, rushing to steady you when your legs wobble.
There are still so many eyes on you, even now, and for the first time, it feels a little intrusive. All you want now is Jeff, to be held and to kiss him and feel his warm, reassuring presence.
Jay slowly lets you go, the redhead who sucked Jeff’s cock sliding in against your side instead, her arm going around your waist. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” she says, and you nod before you glance back at Freckles sitting up on the edge of the mattress, then up and up and up at Jay—God, he’s so tall, taller than your husband even. The words thank you hover on the tip of your tongue but you don’t need to say them for them to know.
“Come,” the redhead says, guiding you away from the scene of the crime and back the way you came, past the locker area into what you realize are communal showers.
At the far end, two women are lazily making out in the spray and you glance at the redhead again who is gently steering you under the warm spray of a shower.
You let it rush over your body for a moment before you take off your mask and lazily run your hands through your tousled hair, then down your body.
“I’m Danni,” she says as she lathers up some body wash in her hands, then gently scrubs them down your back.
“Y/N,” you sigh.
When you turn around, her mask is on the floor with yours and you look at her for a moment. She’s pretty. You wait for the inevitable flare of jealousy at knowing she had her mouth on your husband’s dick but it doesn’t come.
She smiles at you as if she knows, then slides her slick hands over your hips to the outside of your thigh. “You’re gonna be sore tomorrow.” she says quietly before handing you a damp washcloth.
You gingerly run it between your legs and down the inside of your thighs, cleaning away the evidence of your debauchery.
“You’re with—”
You feel stupid calling them the nicknames you gave them in your head to her face, so you just say, “—them?”
She nods, her lips quirking into a small smile. “Yeah, we are—a thing.”
You nod before tilting your head back into the spray, letting the warm water run over your face. When you bring your head down again, Danni is wrapped in a towel and holding one out for you.
You take it gladly, wrap yourself up in the fluffy cotton before following her back to the locker room. You blink at the harsh lights and wander over to locker 17 and put in the combination to unlock it.
“Hey sweetheart.”
You smile as an arm slides around your shoulder from behind, Jeff’s warm body pressing against your back, his beard bristling at the side of your neck as he noses at your jaw.
You melt back into his embrace, let his familiar scent and the low rumble of his voice wash over you.
“That was fucking hot,” he rasps into your ear, and although he is already dressed again, he can’t resist a slow roll of his hips against your ass.
You hum in response, basking in the warmth of his body and the knowledge that despite having sex with other people tonight, your marriage is absolutely fine.
“Take your time. I’ll wait for you outside, sweetheart,” he says after a while, and he kisses the side of your neck before he lets you go.
You miss his warmth immediately. Still, you take your time getting dressed, letting your muscles dictate how fast you move. At last, you take a big gulp of the bottle of water you brought with you and scrounge your hair up into a messy ponytail before you take your purse and leave the locker room.
You can still hear the thump-thump of the music as you pass by the heavy wooden doors. Your cheeks heat when you think about what happened on the other side of them.
You go outside, the night air cool on your skin. From the outside, you’d never be able to tell what is going on inside.
You make your way to your car where Jeff is waiting for you. He holds out his hand to you and you take it, let yourself be pulled in.
“Hey,” he says, and you smile, saying, “Hey,” back before you lean in and kiss him, long and slow.
You only part when there’s movement behind you, and you turn, tuck yourself against Jeff’s side, your face flaming when you recognize Danni and—you can finally see their faces now and they are both so handsome.
You watch as Freckles fist-bumps Jeff like they are old buddies. They probably are, you realize. You hadn’t even given it much thought what it exactly Jeff had meant when he said he had arranged for this evening.
Freckles shoots you a grin as he runs his hand through his hair. “Jensen,” he says easily, “this is Jared, and you already know Danni.” Jared lifts his hand in a little awkward wave while Danni flashes you a smile.
“Y/N,” you say, ducking your head. It’s a little hard to look at them when a highlight reel of the two of them fucking you six ways to Sunday in front of your husband is still playing in your mind in high definition.
Jensen chuckles and drags his knuckles down your cheek, lifting your chin. “No need to be shy, sweetie,” he says and you release a nervous breath as Jeff squeezes your hip reassuringly, giving you something to focus on.
“You know, when Jeff suggested this, I wasn’t sure how this was gonna go, but—” he trails off, glances at his partners. They both nod. “If you ever feel like doing this again in a more private setting, give us a call.”
Fuck. You are a little mortified but at the same time just the thought makes you clench your thighs.
He leans in and places a kiss on your cheek before he side-hugs Jeff. “Think about it,” he says with a grin and you watch him throw an arm around Danni’s shoulder before the three of them take off.
“No pressure,” Jeff mutters as he kisses your temple, his hand squeezing your ass. You already know he will make you feel like a queen once you get home, taking care of your every need.
You hum softly and lean up to kiss your husband before saying, “I love you.”
He thumbs at your cheekbone and steals another kiss. “I love you, too. Thank you for tonight.”
And you know you won’t even have to think about it. You know you’re going to call them.
For you and for Jeff.
thanks for reading, lemme know if you enjoyed!!!
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Father of Mine
father of mine masterlist
summary: All Dean Winchester ever wanted was to protect the people he loved. Sometimes, in order to do that, he had to make hard decisions, Lisa and Ben were the prime example. Years after making another one of those hard decisions, he has to come back to the place where he had left a piece of his heart - only to be constantly reminded of what he had to sacrifice in order to keep his family safe.
warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, throwing up, this is written like an episode of Supernatural
word count: 8,2k
a/n: I’ve been writing this story for … a year now? I think? And I’ve gotta admit, I am so happy that it is finally out. Everything that I write means incredibly much to me, but this story just holds such a special place in my heart and I am very happy to share it now with you guys. I do hope you like it, and, as always, reblogs are very much appreciated because that way the story gets spread to more people! Now, enjoy!
flashbacks are written in italics
pt1 pt2 pt3
Cleveland, Ohio 2002
The bar was crowded with people.
Gruffed men wearing leather jackets and intoxicated women in crop-tops were all sprawled out around an alcohol booth in the middle.
In another corner, currently bathed in purple and orange spotlight, a guy with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and a bucket-hat was giving a lousy cover of ‘God save the Queen’ by Sex Pistols.
♫ ♪ “Don't be told what you want. Don't be told what you need. There's no future, no future, no future for you!” ♫ ♪
On one of the way too small bar chairs, sipping a burning mix of whiskey and ginger ale, was sitting Dean Winchester, and he was pissed.
Pissed at his stupid father, who was acting like Dean was a 15-year-old with no common sense whatsoever, pissed at the goddamn ghost that had found an incredible pleasure in almost ripping his fingers off his hands, and pissed at stupid Sam for just getting up one day and leaving him - didn’t matter if that had been months ago.
And with every drink that Dean downed, he started feeling more like “Dad can kiss my ass” instead of “Dad has been doing this much longer than you and just knows better”. Meaning, he should probably slow down.
But whatever.
His Dad could kiss his ass.
♫ ♪ “Oh when there's no future, how can there be sin? We're the flowers in the dustbin!” ♫ ♪
“Why, hello,” he suddenly heard a sweet voice next to him say.
Dean turned his head and was met face to face with friendly, glimmering eyes.
Those, just as the voice that had spoken to him, belonged to a young woman who seemed to have just appeared next to him.
He moved his gaze up and down her body.
Apart from her eyes, she had smooth skin, that was covered with glowing sweatpearls, most likely because of the stuffy air around them.
Or maybe, just like Dean, she had had a couple drinks too many.
A few, fine strands of her shoulder-length hair were tousled, likely from combing her hands through it.
He licked his lips. “Well, hello you. With whom do I have the pleasure?”
He was laying on thick and he knew that, but it’s not like he could care about it.
“Gloria. Richards.” She was speaking in a soft, honey voice, and Dean urged himself to focus on her face, and not the way her neck and chest were lightly gleaming from the thin layer of sweat covering them.
“What’s yours?”
Dean Winchester.
But no, that wasn’t his name. Not today at least. If he could just remember what was. And the drinks didn’t exactly make thinking easier.
“Dean Hansley.”
Gloria smiled again.
What a nice smile she had.
"Dean Hansley." She tasted the words, let them burn on her tongue. "That's a nice name."
And then she sat down at the stool next to him, without waiting for him to invite her, and she started talking.
And he talked back with her.
And time went by, and she kept finishing and ordering drinks, that Dean all offered to pay, and she never refused.
By now, the guy in the Hawaiian shirt had been thrown off the karaoke stage, after heavily throwing up into one of the other guest's handbags, halfway through a tedious ballad about life, and love, and its misery.
The only source of music was coming from the colorful jukebox next to the pool board.
A couple drunk-off-their-asses idiots, trying to play billiards, were loudly roaring along to AC/DC’s ‘You shook me all night long’.
♫ ♪ “She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen!” ♫ ♪
Gloria was still sitting next to him, although a bit closer, and she was sipping at her third drink he had bought her tonight.
And damn, that girl had high tolerance.
Dean thought she was amazing.
“That thing with your family sucks, really.” She scrunched up her nose in slight discomfort.
Dean let out a humorless laugh and took a sip of the whiskey he was still stuck with. “Yeah, tell me about it.”
Yes, he had told her about his - family issues. But so what?
It felt nice having someone listening to him for a change. Someone who wasn’t his family, didn’t even know them, and wouldn’t try to disregard his frustration by telling him to ‘put himself in his father’s shoes for once’.
Gloria finished her drink and used the palm of her hand to wipe the sweat off her forehead.
Dean tried his best to not think too much about her knee touching his, her being so close him.
“The air in here is terrible,” she said, heavily emphasizing the last word.
Dean’s attention was turned to her again. He knew she had said something before that, but he hadn’t been able to catch it, too lost in his own mind.
He kind of felt bad for not listening to her.
Dean threw a look around.
“Yeah, it’s getting pretty hot in here,” he agreed, feeling pearls of sweat rolling off the little hairs on his neck.
Gloria looked directly into his eyes, then up his body, down his body, before settling on his eyes again.
She bit the inside of her cheek. Then her lip.
“I mean,” she slowly spoke, “we could continue this conversation somewhere else if you want. Where there’s not so many people and the air doesn’t taste like salt.”
♫ ♪ “You really took me and you shook me all night long! Ooh, you shook me all night long!” ♫ ♪
Hell yeah.
A boyish grin started forming on his face.
“An offer like that - how could I say no?”
༺ 。 ° ୨❀୧ ° 。 ༻
Now
“Read it again for me.”
Dean was staring straight ahead onto the road, his gaze hard and jaw clenched.
Sam sighed and opened the newspaper again, for what had to be the seventh time now since they had first found it.
They were both sitting in the Impala, Castiel in the backseat. The angel could have just flipped his wings and flown to the destination they were headed, but he had insisted to take the drive with them, claiming he had “nothing better to do anyway”.
“St. George, Louisiana,” Sam started to read.
“In the night of Wednesday to Thursday, a young man was found dead in his room in Saint George’s Children’s Home. The 17-year-old Roy Kendall hadn’t come out of his room the first half of the day, and when a woman of the working personnel - whose name has been withheld - came to check on him, she discovered his mutilated body draped out on the bed. According to the police, the young man’s rib cage had been compressed with such force that his ribs were broken and had managed to pierce through the young man’s internal organs, which resulted in him slowly bleeding out internally. Authorities are still in the dark about the exact details of the tragedy and the questions of “Why” and, particularly, “How” something like this could even be possible. The head of the Children’s Care Institution …, blah blah blah.”
Sam purposefully drifted off and ended his reading session therefore. He folded the newspaper back together and stuffed it into the Impala’s globe compartment.
“And that’s it, I am not reading this again. Next thing you know, I’m going to dream about squished organs and ribcages.”
He shuddered.
“I just don’t get it, man,” Dean said, ignoring his brother’s complaints, but he didn’t seem to address anyone in particular.
“I mean, I checked everything, Sammy. No demonic omens, no strategic killings, no recent disappearances. That place was all white picket fences and summer barbecues when we- ”
He was quick to cut himself off.
Sam threw his brother a side glance, but decided to not address his slip-up.
“Well, Dean, sometimes monsters just … turn up, you know.” This time Sam turned his head to get a proper look at his older brother.
“Maybe it’s just passing through, or simply moved there from somewhere else. They aren’t exactly tied to a specific place.”
Dean ran his hand over his face and through his hair in distress. “Out of all places, why there?” He muttered in a low tone.
And again, he was more talking to himself than anyone else.
“I don’t understand.” Cas was suddenly talking from the back seat. “What is in this Children’s Home that is of so much importance to you both?”
Dean was quick to answer a “Nothing,” but Castiel didn’t quite believe him.
Sam turned in his seat to face the angel.
“We were working a case near there a while back,” he simply explained.
Cas frowned, still not quite convinced, but he decided to let the topic rest. For now, at least.
“I understand,” he said. “Then it would probably be of benefit for you to stick with your past aliases. Just in case anyone there should recognize you.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” Dean vaguely answered, but he seemed trapped deep in his own thoughts.
༺ 。 ° ୨❀୧ ° 。 ༻
Black Hawk, Colorado 2002
“To listen to this voicemail, call-”
A dial tone sounded. The message was a few months old.
“Hey, Dean, it’s uh … it’s Gloria. You know, Gloria Richards, from a few nights ago?” A humorless chuckle was heard on the other end of the line.
“Though, guys like you don’t usually remember their casual one-night hookups. So I’ll cut straight to the chase.” One heavy inhale.
“I’m pregnant. And I know the chances of you wanting anything to do with me are zero to negative six, but I just wanted to-”
“To delete this voicemail, press 2.”
A tone.
“Voicemail deleted.”
“To listen to this voicema-”
The woman on the other end sounded more outraged this time, even though occasional cracks or hiccups in her voice gave away that she had been heavily crying moments before. Maybe still was.
“Hello Dean, it’s me again. You know, I didn’t expect you to jump up high at the news, but ignoring me?” She scoffed. “That’s a different type of low.”
She sniffled. “I’m just calling to tell you I’ve decided to keep the baby. So you can still change your mind, if you-”
“To delete this voicemail, press-” “Voicemail deleted.”
“To listen to th-”
“Hello, Dean. It’s Gloria. Again.”
This time, she seemed calmer, which could be reasoned with the tiredness her voice was radiating.
“I suppose I’m still kind of hoping that you will call me back. Or even pick up.” She sighed.
“I wanted to tell you that she’s perfectly healthy and growing. That’s right. She. Our baby is going to be a-”
“To delete this-” ”Voicemail deleted.”
John Winchester stared at the small phone in his hand and pressed a button.
“You have no more voicemails.”
That moment, Dean came bursting into the motel room, looking around the empty shelves and patting up and down his jacket- and jeans-pockets.
“Hey Dad, do you know where my phone is? I heard it ringing,” Dean asked.
“Yes, just some spam-callers,” John neatly lied. “I took care of it, but I’m gonna put it out of service, just in case.”
Dean looked at him and for a moment, John thought his son would grow suspicious, but he just nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Dad.”
John nodded and Dean left the room with his bag in hand. When he was certain Dean wouldn’t come back, John took the phone apart and crashed the SIM Card on the nightstand with the lamp.
Then he put the pieces in the bin, took his duffel bag and followed his son to the car.
༺ 。 ° ୨❀୧ ° 。 ༻
Now
The St. George’s Children’s Home was somewhat of a small castle, kept in a renaissance style.
Around a large courtyard, archways connected four round-towers, which were slightly higher than the rest of the castle. The walls were painted a pale yellow.
Trees grew in the gardens around the castle, flowers in planted beds, and as far as Dean could remember, there was a hedge maze behind the walls, not visible from the gateway.
They had parked the Impala in one of the parking spaces next to the tall, elegant terrain fence.
Sam and Dean were wearing black suits and their fake badges, Castiel - as always - stuck with the trench coat.
Dean was eyeing the building suspiciously.
In fact, he had been doing so for the last three minutes, in which they had all sat in the Impala in complete silence.
Sam threw a quick, concerned glance at his brother before clearing his throat.
“You really wanna do this?”, he asked quietly.
“No,” Dean answered and opened the car door, “But it’s not like we have a choice, right?”
Sam sighed and did the same, not before exchanging a quick, apprehensive look with Castiel, who still didn’t quite know what was going on.
The castle’s inside was considerably more modern than its outside.
With brightly-colored walls and furniture, and minimalistic decorations all over.
It seemed cozy.
They were headed for the office of the youth center’s director, Maria Whitlock. Dean remembered exactly where that was. Down the hall, left. Past a few closed bedroom doors. Last door at the end of the corridor.
Dean cleared his throat and knocked on the door, Sam right behind him. Castiel had left before they had entered the castle, claiming to look for a suitable Motel nearby, and telling them to contact him if they needed his help.
There was a beat of silence before they heard a woman’s voice reply “Yes?” and entered the office.
Maria Whitlock was an elderly woman, with dark red hair that she kept in a low bun. She was around a head smaller than Dean, and wearing a grey blouse combined with a wine red jacket and a black pencil skirt.
When she heard them enter the room, she looked up from a few papers she was filing, and her face immediately fell.
“Hello, Maria.” Sam greeted her.
“Dean and Sam Winchester,” she breathed out, startled.
“I never thought I would see you two again.”
Dean felt a sting in his chest.
“Yeah, well,” Sam said and tried a clumsy smile. A heavy silence followed, and Dean shifted uncomfortably.
Maria frowned. “Not to seem impolite, but what are the two of you doing here?” She asked.
Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.
“We, uhm, we heard about Roy and we thought that, maybe, we should just check if everything was alright and, of course, speak our condolences. You know, for old time’s sake.”
She nodded and closed the pen. “Yes, right. Roy. I completely forgot that they put that in the paper.”
A look of dark grief fell over her face and her gaze drifted into nothingness. She suddenly looked much older than she was.
Dean cleared his throat. “I gave you my number, Maria,” he spoke. “If you would’ve called, we could’ve been here sooner.”
She blinked rapidly, pulling herself out of her thoughts and looked at him for a second before she replied.
“I know, I know, but to be honest - it slipped my mind, in between all of this … chaos and tragedy.”
While she was talking, she got up from her chair and walked around the table, getting a clearer view at Sam and Dean.
“Of course,” Sam hastily said. “No worries. We are very sorry for your loss.”
She gave him a sad smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Dean was glad that it had been Sam who had spoken up. He wasn’t very good at that sort of things. Nor did he aspire to be.
“You said you were here because of Roy’s …. passing,” Maria continued, and the brothers nodded.
“But that would mean that this was some sort of - unnatural incident.”
Sam swallowed hard.
“Well,” he started, trying to find the right words that would not trigger a breakdown for the woman, “we saw the article in the newspaper and thought that we would just have a look at it. The circumstances of Roy’s passing aren’t exactly common for a person his age, after all.”
Or for any person, really.
She nodded lazily. “Yes. I suppose you are right.”
Dean could swear that another minute of awkward silence between them would probably kill him, so he took it upon himself to prevent it before it started.
“I get that this is hard, Maria,” he said, “But if we could maybe ask you some questions? Maybe speak to the person that found him?”
She sniffled.
Oh dear God.
“Yes, yes, of course.” Her voice was a bit higher than before, and her hands grabbed for a handkerchief lying on the table.
“Uhm, the woman who found him was one of my responsible supervisors, Betty Langston. She should be present in the building today, but the last time I spoke to her, she was still pretty shaken up. I mean, who can blame her? I can’t even imagine what it must have been like, seeing that poor boy lying on his bed, just- ”
She broke off and a sob escaped her lips, before she buried her face in the kerchief.
“I’m sorry,” she cried, “I’m sorry, it’s just - he was such a kind boy. He had his whole life ahead of him. And the way that he had to go…”
She raised her head and shook it, eyes reddened and filled with tears.
“I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”
“We understand, Maria,” Sam spoke in a comforting, low voice.
And Dean added, “And I promise we will find whatever did this and make sure this happens to no one ever again.”
She forced herself to a smile.
“Thank you, boys. May the angels be with you.”
Dean forbid himself a snort.
“Thank you for your time, Maria. We will let you know when we know more,” Sam said and left the office.
He wouldn’t risk making her cry again by bothering her with questions about her dead fosterling.
Dean smiled at Maria and turned to follow his brother, but she stopped him.
“Dean.”
He turned to face her.
“You do know that it won’t be possible for you to investigate here, without … encountering a certain someone.”
Dean straightened his shoulders.
“Yes, I know.”
“Have you thought about it? What you will say to her?”
“Gotta admit, I haven’t.”
She hummed and nodded. Dean noticed that she had resumed her usual upright position, and if he hadn’t just witnessed it, he probably would not know that she had been crying.
“I should warn you,” she said gently, “It probably won’t be easy.”
“I honestly didn’t expect it to be.”
She smiled a gentle smile at him and he returned it, before finally leaving the room and joining his brother in the hallway.
༺ 。 ° ୨❀୧ ° 。 ༻
Lewiston, Michigan 2004
The first time he had read it, John Winchester had been drunk. He had spared a quick glance at it after coming home from a bar, before throwing himself onto the motel bed and passing out.
The second time he had read it, he had been sober, but suffering from a skull-splitting headache.
The third time he read it, it was simply to make sure his hungover mind wasn’t making any of this up. But no, the words on the newspaper stayed the same, grinning up at him with a sickening smirk that made his stomach turn.
In the small corner of the left page, where the lesser important news were usually placed, throned the bold-printed, black words:
24-year-old woman dies in tragic car accident, leaves 1-year-old daughter behind
No. God, no.
He read it again. Read the headline, read the article, the name that had been shortened but to him unmistakable: Gloria R.
R. Just like Richards. Gloria Richards.
There was a picture placed right next to the text, held in color, of a young woman that was clearly putting on a smile for the camera.
John slammed the newspaper on the round table.
“Damn it!” He yelled.
And in that moment, John was grateful that Dean had offered to go on a coffee run.
—
He was ‘going on a quick hunt’. That’s what he told Dean.
He was ‘going on a quick hunt and if anyone needed anything, they should contact Dean’. That’s what he told Bobby. And everyone that reached his voicemail.
Cleveland, Ohio. That’s where he was going. He had some business to attend to.
—
Central Nebraska
To say that Ellen Harvelle wasn’t delighted about John Winchester showing up inside the Roadhouse would be quite an understatement.
She was furious.
John paid attention to enter the wooden cabin carefully. He didn’t expect Ellen to be pleased by his sudden presence, especially considering their last encounter with each other.
It was a random Wednesday afternoon, and there wasn’t anyone seated in the Roadhouse, except for Ellen herself, who was busy cleaning the bar with a half-wet kitchen towel.
The brunette woman looked up for a quick second, as a form of formality, before she dedicated her attention back onto the dirty surface.
“I’ll be with you in a secon-” Then she realized. Stopped. Did a double take.
“Winchester.” The word was dripping from her lips with loathing.
“Hello, Ellen,” he started, but she cut him off.
“What do you want?” Her question was blunt and her tone cold and unwelcoming.
John cleared his throat and stepped from one foot to the other. He had to sell his story good, if Ellen wouldn’t get on board with his proposition, he had nobody else to go to.
“Look, Ellen. I get that you’re mad- ”
“Mad?” She let out a short, sour laugh.
“Mad doesn’t even begin to describe what I am feeling towards you, Winchester. Try hatred. Pure disgust.” She scoffed again.
“You must have a death wish, because I couldn’t think of any other possible reason why you would drag your dumbass out here again. ”
John swallowed hard. She was right. Who was he to just show up here again? After what happened?
But there was no turning back now, he had to go through with this.
“You’re right.” He spoke in a low tone to try and seem less intimidating and also attempt to soothe her temper towards him.
“I am sorry about what happened, Ellen. If I could go back and do it any different, then I would.”
A lie. She knew that. He knew that she knew that. Still - she didn’t interrupt, just kept glaring at him, so he decided to continue.
“But unfortunately, I can’t. And I know you have every right and reason to hate me now.”
Agreeing and empathizing with her.
“But there is something extremely important that I need to ask of you.”
Again, he didn’t have much time to talk, before Ellen raised her voice.
“You damned son of a bitch!”, she yelled, tossing the kitchen towel onto the counter with such force, the leftover water splashed around.
“You ain’t got no right walking in here, after what you pulled, and ask a goddamned favor of me!”
Her voice was loud in the silence of the Roadhouse and John lifted his hands up in defense.
“Ellen, please! Listen to me!”, he pleaded. Ellen wasn’t yelling at him anymore, but her jaw was still clenched and her entire body tense.
“I wouldn’t be here if I had any other options. Like you said, I must have a Deathwish to show up here. And I understand that. But you are the only person that I can trust with this. You can toss me out all you want after. You can yell, and scream, and punch me, and shoot at me. Just please, hear me out first. ”
There was silence, where John just stood there, his hands still raised in the air in front of him, and Ellen grinding her teeth as she thought about what to do now.
Because by God, did she hate him. And a part of her wanted to take a rifle and first shoot a bullet into his feet and then his di-
But on the other hand, she could not recall a time that John Winchester had ever gotten himself into a position to beg.
No, he was too proud for that. So whatever he wanted must be goddamn important for him, really.
“Tell me what you need, Winchester,” Ellen said eventually, “And let me decide afterwards.”
Her body language didn’t show one sign of hospitality still, but John interpreted her words as somewhat of a good sign.
Hopefully.
༺ 。 ° ୨❀୧ ° 。 ༻
Now
After their talk with Maria, Sam and Dean settled on questioning Betty Langston.
In the middle of the wall in the entrance hall, a big frame with the pictures, names and duties of the working staff was hung up.
Above the name ‘Betty Langston’ was a picture of a friendly looking woman in her mid-twenties, with a pointed nose and blonde strands of hair framing her face.
Underneath, the duties “Social Worker” and “Deputy Manager” were listed.
When they knocked on the door which was labeled “staff”, a young man opened and told them that Betty Langston was currently positioned on the second floor.
Dean wanted to take the elevator, but Sam dragged him up the stairs.
“It will be faster,” he guaranteed, and Dean just rolled his eyes with a groan.
The hallways on the second floor were surprisingly wide, with doors placed across each other in a zig zag pattern.
Here and there were a few paintings on the walls, old and new, and green neon signs pointing toward the emergency exit.
They met Betty after they turned around the first corner. She stood in front of a pinboard and was currently hanging up new posters.
Her hair was different from the picture, slightly longer now ending halfway down her back, and copper colored with only a few blonde highlights.
The brothers made their way over to her and flashed their fake FBI-badges when she let off her work and shifted her attention to them.
“Hello, my name is David Shields, my partner’s name is Jarvis Stark,” introduced Dean. “Are you Betty Langston?”
The young woman gaped at them, slightly caught off guard. “Uhm yes, that’s me,” she eventually got out and lowered her arms. “What can I do for you?”
Dean caught a glimpse of the writing on the poster. It was a few phone numbers, and in dark blue, a text above read: ‘DON’T HESITATE TO ASK FOR HELP!’
“We’re here to ask you about Roy Kendall,” Sam carefully approached, “We understand that you are the one who found him.”
Dean couldn’t help but notice how Betty Langston’s eyes shifted to the floor and she nervously trailed her fingers up and down the paper in her hand.
“Um yes, I … I found him.” Her voice got small and she swallowed hard.
“But what does the FBI want with that? I thought it was a wild animal.”
“Given the unusual occurrence of Roy’s death, we thought it necessary to at least have a look at this case and find out what we can,” Sam said.
“That doesn’t have to mean anything, though,” Dean quickly tried to soothe her when he noticed the tears springing in the woman’s eyes. “Exactly,” Sam hastily agreed. “Only a few questions, just in case.”
Betty nodded and blinked away her tears. “Okay,” she quietly said. Sam reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out his notebook and a pen.
“Did Roy mention something … I don’t know, unusual before he died?” Sam asked, clicking the pen and bringing his notepad in position. The young woman hesitated.
“Well, not that I know of,” she eventually said, “But, you see, kids at that age … they don’t talk to us adults much anymore. If you want to know something about Roy, you better ask his friends.”
Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “His friends?” He repeated. She nodded. “Mhm.”
“And, uh - who are his friends, if I may ask?” Sam tuned in again. Betty thought for a second and then clicked her tongue. “Well, there’s Cassandra, Cassandra Claire,” she said and started counting the listed names on her fingers. “And, uhm, Finnegan Beckett.” Sam repeated the children’s names under his breath as he quickly wrote them down.
“And Y/N Winchester,” Betty finished.
Sam abruptly stopped writing at the ‘n’ and looked up. He felt Dean visibly tense and shift next to him.
The younger brother just put on a smile and folded the small notepad back into the inner pocket of his jacket. But not before completely writing out the last name on the list.
“Thank you so much, Miss Langston, you helped us a lot. We will let you know if there are any more questions. And, our condolences,” he added.
She shyly smiled back at him and slowly continued gathering thumbtacks to hang up her posters, and the brothers left.
Sam waited until they were out of hearing range, then turned to Dean. “So…that was something,” he carefully started.
“What do you mean?”
Sam threw him a look. “You know what I mean. The witness list. Roy’s friends. That last name…”
Dean sighed heavily. Sam waited for him to say something. And when he didn’t, Sam just shook his head but decided to not stress it any further.
“So, where to now?” He asked instead.
Dean took a look at his watch. “The morgue, I’d say. As far as I know they’re closing soon, and a dead body is not exactly the first thing I need to see in the morning, so-”
Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah, alright. Sounds good.”
They made their way out of the castle.
“You want to take Castiel?” Sam questioned when he rounded the car.
“No,” Dean decided firmly and opened the driver’s door. “Remember what happened last time? Exactly. I don’t need Cas smelling some dead guy again.”
Sam grinned at the memory. With a creak, the Impala gave in to their weight as they sat down, and the gravel gnashed under her tires when they drove off.
༺ 。 ° ୨❀୧ ° 。 ༻
Central Nebraska 2006
Roughly, the dark minivan tuckered over the bumpy earth of the pathetic excuse of a road, and Dean’s insides flinched with every squeak the old car made.
When they finally came to a stop, he tossed the keys somewhere and maybe slammed the door with a bit more force than necessary. A lot more.
“This is humiliating,” he grumbled, as he took in the atrocious excuse of a vehicle they just stepped out of. He missed his Baby.
Sam ignored him, and stepped forward, towards the old wooden – house? Shack? – the mysterious phone number on their dad’s cell had led them to.
The huge letters ROADHOUSE flaunted above them, and Dean thought that these were probably made to light up when the sun disappeared.
The rest of the house looked abandoned, frankly, from the outside, and that, in combination with the four-month-old voicemail, made Dean not like his odds very much. The chances that this Ellen chick was still alive, knowing what his father had needed her for, were slim in his mind.
Or hell, maybe she just called from here, got the phone from some rando, and got on her merry way when she realized John wasn’t calling back. It’s probably what he would’ve done.
Safe to say, Dean didn’t like their odds. Even less so when they entered the eerie quiet of the bar, and spotted a man lying unconscious, probably dead, on the pool table.
Dean felt his shoulders stiffen. He didn’t like this one bit, and every second he spent here made the alarm in his head shrill even louder than before.
Dean only just turned to take a closer look at one of the shelves, when he felt something hard dig into his lower back, and heard an all too familiar clicking sound.
Dean closed his eyes. “Please tell me that is a gun.”
“No, I’m just very happy to see you,” came the fast answer from a very snarking - and female? - voice.
In one swift motion, Dean whirled around, grabbed the barrel, ripped it out of his attacker’s hand, and uncocked it. The bullet fell to the ground with an echoing clatter.
Dean almost smirked triumphantly at the blonde girl in front of him, when he felt a sudden, blinding pain in his face.
And if Dean had thought pulling up in a 30-year-old, barely functional van, of all things was humiliating, he didn’t calculate how it would feel to be absolutely sucker punched by a girl, not even as old as him.
Aside from the obvious nosebleed, his ego took a severe bruise.
“Sam! Little help here!” He called, hand still holding his hurting face.
The door swung open, and Sam walked out, hands raised to his head, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry Dean,” he said, “I’m a little tied up right now.”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, as he watched another woman with dark brown hair follow his brother close behind, a revolver held to his head in fair warning.
He would be impressed, if his vision wasn’t swimming right now.
The older woman behind Sam furrowed her brows. “Wait, Sam? Dean?” She asked, exchanging looks with kick-ass Blondie in front of him. “Winchester?”
There was a beat, before the brothers pressed out a unison “Yeah?”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Mom, you know these guys?” Dean’s head hurt with how much he was swinging it around to keep up.
“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys.” And that made Dean perk up.
The woman let out a laugh as she lowered her weapon.
—
A few minutes later, Dean was served with an iced cloth for his nose, and he and Sam seated themselves on a few of the bystanding bar chairs.
The brunette woman, who had threatened Sam, turned out to be the mysterious Ellen, whose voicemail on their dad’s phone they followed here. Jo, her daughter, and also the kick-ass blonde that had held the rifle to Dean’s back, looked about as unknowing about the whole situation as the brothers did.
Turns out Ellen had contacted John about the demon he was hunting. Said she could help him with it. Why John had never mentioned her, or her daughter, she didn’t say. Told them to ask him themselves. Dean didn’t say anything to that.
“So why exactly do we need your help?”, Dean asked, repositioning the cloth on his face.
Ellen scoffed. “Hey, don’t do me any favors. If you don’t want my help, fine.” There was a snarking edge to her voice, and Dean started to realize why his father would associate with her.
“Don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out,” she continued. “But John wouldn’t have sent you, if–“
There it was.
Ellen stood straighter. A haunted look crossed her eyes. “He didn’t send you.” It wasn’t a question.
Dean looked away.
“He’s alright, isn’t he?” Dean hadn’t known Ellen Harvelle for very long, but even he could sense the way her voice wavered. And know that she was a smart enough woman to not truly believe what she was asking.
“No.” Sam cleared his throat, and the simple word echoed through the deafening silence. “No, he’s not. We think the demon did it. Got to him before he got to it.” The thankful feeling of not being the one to have to tell her what happened felt like a sin in Dean’s gut. Then again, what’s one more on his plate.
“I’m sorry,” Ellen said. It’s what everyone said.
“It’s alright. We’re good.”
Ellen didn’t believe him, he saw it in her eyes. But she didn’t bother him more about it, either.
“So, look, if you can help us,” Sam said, and Dean threw him a look that showed just how much he wanted to smack his little brother across the face, “we’d be real happy about all the help we can get.”
Ellen’s lips twisted. “We can’t help you.”
Is this lady for real-
“But he can.”
And then the dead man stood up from the pool table.
—
Ash was a tech freak, with a haircut like Billy Ray Cyrus and the mouth of a southern cowboy. Jo called him a genius. Dean didn’t know what to think of that.
Still, he had passed him their dad’s journal, told him to go nuts, and Ash had drooled over John Winchester’s handiwork like a child over a lollipop.
Ash had left with the journal and the promise of new information in the time of fifty-one hours.
Dean thought that was long enough time to take a drink.
Jo Harvelle was a pretty woman. When she wasn’t threatening him with a rifle or punching him in the face, that was. Her soft, blonde curls fell long over her shoulders, and those jeans did wonders to her curves.
Dean started conversing with her. While he had moved to one of the tables, Sam had stayed with Ellen at the bar. He found out that her father died, a long time ago. In the back of his mind, a mean voice cackled at the irony. He paid his sympathies.
Then, suddenly, one of the doors to the backrooms flew open, and a small whirlwind of colorful fabric and y/h/c hair came dashing into the room.
“Aunty Ellen, Aunty Ellen! Look what I made!”
Dean’s head whipped around at the sound of the high-pitched voice and he spotted a small girl, not older than five years probably, squeezing herself behind the bar table. When he noticed Ellen bowing her head, he figured that the little girl had probably reached her destined spot next to her.
Dean, though he would never admit it, was an easily curious person, so he followed Jo on her way to the bar and leaned slightly over the tablewood to catch a glimpse at the small intruder.
Little Lady was tugging at Ellen’s pantleg, and expectantly holding up a colored paper for her to look at.
“Look at what I drew, Auntie Ellen!” she repeated, in that same excited tone as before, when she had stormed into the room.
Dean watched as Ellen abandoned her washcloth somewhere behind her and crouched down to meet with the little girl eye-to-eye, as she inspected her drawing.
“That’s so amazing, baby, is that us?” The girl nodded, her pigtails wiggling up and down as she bopped her head enthusiastically.
“Yes, that is you, and that is Jo, and that is me. And look, I made my own fingerprint!” She dashed her finger into a spot on the paper, and then proudly held up the red-colored tip to shove it in Ellen’s face.
The woman had a wide, genuine smile on her face. “I can see that, baby, well done, it looks so nice!” She praised. “How about we hang it up there next to the menu?”
The girl nodded her head again, and let Ellen scoop her up gently. Only then, when Little Lady was at height with them, she seemed to notice the strangers standing in the room.
In the matter of a second, Dean saw her whole demeanor shift from bubbly and open, to a more closed off version, sinking further into Ellen’s embrace and clutching the fabrics of her shirt. Something about it made Dean’s heart sting.
“Auntie Ellen?” The girl tried to whisper, but Dean had learned soon that children were terrible whisperers, “Who is that?”
Ellen looked first to Sam, then Dean, and back at the little girl in her arms. “Those are friends of Jo and me, sweetheart. Their names are Sam-“ Dean’s little brother gave a wave and a smile when Ellen introduced him. “-and Dean.”
Dean grinned and carefully stretched his hand out. “Very nice to meet you, Little Lady. Who am I speaking to, may I ask?” He laid a formal accent on his voice, one that he knew had always made Sam laugh when he was a child. It was an olive branch, but something in him hoped she would grab it.
The small giggle that Little Lady let out made Dean’s heart bloom with a warmth he didn’t know he was able to feel.
“My name’s Y/N,” she said. With a pointed look at Dean’s still outstretched hand, Ellen murmured in her ear, “And what do we do when someone gives us their hand to shake?”
Y/N nuzzled her face into the crook of Ellen’s neck, and Dean almost drew his hand back again, when a small warmth settled into his palm and closed around it.
He smiled at the girl and shook her hand. As they both pulled back, Dean twisted his hand around and huffed. “Ouff, someone has got a firm grip! Your Auntie Ellen teach you that?” Y/N grinned proudly at him and nodded her head. Then she held up her hand and showed him four fingers. “I’m already this old!”
Dean gasped. “Really? Well, that is a great age, no wonder you are so strong!”
Y/N was beaming now.
She didn’t hide in Ellen’s neck again.
“So, what about that picture now?” Ellen bounced the girl on her hip once, and it seemed like she was snapped out of a trance. Determinedly, she pointed at a space next to a hung-up blackboard. Dean figured Ellen usually wrote her daily specials on that.
The woman made a few steps over where Y/N had led her and gestured toward an already hung drawing of blue water and grey – fish? – above it, that was already taped to the wall.
“But we already put a picture there. We would have to remove that one if you want your new drawing to hang here.” The girl shrugged, and already reached for a roll of clean tape on the shelf.
“That’s okay, I don’t like dolphins all that much anymore anyway,” she explained nonchalantly. “I will just put it in my drawing box.”
Dean watched as Ellen carefully picked the old drawing from the wall to make space for the new one. He was so caught up in the scenery, he almost didn’t notice how Sam was scooting closer to him.
“You know who she is?” Sam asked. Dean turned his attention to his brother.
“Well, her name’s Y/N,” Dean answered simply. Sam didn’t roll his eyes at him, but it was a close call.
Dean just shrugged. “Guess she isn’t Ellen’s. Otherwise, she wouldn’t call her Auntie.” He pitched the last word high, to mimic the child’s voice.
Sam furrowed his brows as they watched Ellen and the small girl.
“Makes you wonder,” he said, “What she’s doing here.”
Dean just hummed. He made brief eye contact with Y/N, as she stole a look in his direction, but she averted her eyes quickly, as if she had been caught.
Dean found himself slightly smiling.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Sam looking at him. His brother was grinning.
“You love that kid.” It was a statement.
Dean scoffed. “Oh, shut up, I don’t even know her. Also, I love kids, plural.” He added.
Sam nodded, that smile still on his lips. Dean ignored him.
“Come on, ask him. Don’t be shy.” Ellen and Y/N had finished putting up her drawing and were now standing closer to them again. Ellen was still carrying the girl on her hip and had bent down to whisper to her.
Y/N had buried her face in Ellen’s shirt again, clearly shy to say something.
“He ain’t gonna bite you,” Ellen said, nudging her. “Go on.”
Y/N lifted her head, and shyly looked at Dean. Her eyes were flickering all over him, but never exactly to his face.
“Doyouwantodrawwithme?” She spluttered. Dean’s eyebrows shot up.
“Don’t think he understood that. Try a bit slower. You can do this, come on,” Ellen encouraged her.
Y/N clutched her shirt.
“Do you want to draw with me?” She asked, head lowered and looking at her fingers. Her voice was quiet, but to Dean it felt as if she had shouted that sentence.
He felt warm inside. “Of course I want to.”
Y/N’s head shot up, and Dean Winchester had seen many beautiful things in his lifetime, but the gleaming eyes of that small child before him had to be at the top of the list. He never wanted to look at anything else.
Ellen set her down and pointed at a table in the corner of the room.
“Her colors and paper are already set up. Every day, before we officially open,” she explained with a look at Dean, and he nodded. While Sam got comfortable on one of the bar chairs, he made his way over to where Y/N had already set up her coloring tools and begun drawing on a piece of yellow paper.
Her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. Dean pulled out a chair and sat down next to her.
“What are you drawing?” He asked, stretching his neck to take a closer look. Y/N leaned back and showed him her creation. Lines of red and yellow. Maybe a tomato? An apple? He turned his head. From that perspective maybe?
“It’s Lighting McQueen!” Y/N told him triumphantly. “I saw cars with Jo.”
Dean nodded. So no apple. He also wasn’t going to point out the girl’s grammar. She was only four after all. And who was he to talk.
“How did you get that?” Y/N suddenly asked, and pointed her small finger at Dean’s forehead, right where a big scar stretched over his skin, consequences of the fatal car accident.
Dean tried his best not to wince. He didn’t need to expose his lingering trauma to this pure soul.
“I was … in an accident,” he said instead. “But I’m okay and it’s almost healed now.”
The girl nodded. Dean was almost astounded at how easy it was with her.
“Whenever I hurt myself, my Auntie Ellen takes me to the Doctor. Or Jo. Or Ash.” Her face scrunches up as she thinks hard. Dean thinks it’s adorable. He finds himself smiling again.
“They always give me colorful plasters! I always get the dinos.” She leans in closer to him when she says the last bit, almost like it’s a secret she only wants him to hear. Dean’s heart warms at the thought, and he doesn’t even know why.
“Really? I’m jealous. I think dinosaurs are amazing.” He used the same hushed tone she had before. Y/N’s eyes widened. “You don’t get dino plasters?” She asked. If Dean hadn’t known better, he would’ve said she was outraged at his confession.
He shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “only boring beige ones.”
Y/N’s eyes widened even more, and her mouth fell open. Then, her lips curved into a beaming smile. “I can give you some of mine! Jo bought me so many the last time she went shopping!”
Before he could even give it a thought, Dean felt her small hand take his, and he was yanked from his seat. Geez, how did a four-year-old kid have so much strength?
His enthusiasm was short-lived, as Sam shouted from the other side of the room.
“Dean, Ellen got us a case!” His little brother was waving around a beige folder, a few newspaper pages hanging out at the sides.
He looked at his brother, then at the girl still clinging her small hand around his fingers.
“Does that mean you have to leave?” Dean’s heart clenched at the quiet, disappointed voice. He crouched down and looked Y/N in the eye.
“Yes,” he said, honestly. “ I have to go to work.”
She tilted her head. “To save people?” She asked. Dean nodded. He didn’t know how she knew, but maybe Ellen told her.
“Yes, exactly. But I will be back soon, and then you can show me your plasters, alright?”
Y/N seemed to think about it, and then nodded her head. Her pigtails were still wiggling up and down. “You promise?” She asked.
Dean nodded. “In fact,” he said, shifted his weight, and held out his pinky finger in front of her. “I pinky promise.”
Y/N grinned up at him. Dean grinned back. She linked her small finger with his.
“Can’t break a pinky promise,” Dean said as he stood up.
She shook her head violently. “Never!”
Dean laughed and waved her Goodbye.
“Let’s go,” he said to Sam as he passed him, and grabbed his jacket.
“Bye, Ellen, Jo.” Sam lowered his voice seriously. “Y/N.”
“Bye, Sam! Bye, Dean!” Y/N waved her hand after them.
“Good luck,” Ellen said. Then they closed the door behind them. The light of the sun was a heavy contrast to the dusky air inside the Roadhouse, and Dean’s eyes needed a while to adjust to the change.
He made his way over to the abomination car, Sam close next to him. His brother bumped his shoulder.
“Plural, huh?” Sam asked, smirking.
And if Dean sped the van up a bit faster, just to give his little brother a good scare now and then, well, that was between him and the Lord above.
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