𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 || dean winchester ¹

[ 𝟎𝟑 ] 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐧

— ❝ YOU JUST EXPECT US TO LET YOU TAG ALONG BECAUSE YOU HAD A SCHIZOPHRENIC EPISODE? ❞

»»———-　✪　———-««

THE QUESTION REFUSED TO PROCESS in Robin's spinning head as she stared down the cold, shiny barrel of a pistol. It hovered over her attacker's muscular arm, ready to fire if she made any wrong move. Robin's jaw went slack, daring to meet the man's eyes.

They were sharp and dangerous, pupils tiny black dots in the center of raging oceans. They were much like Sam's in a strange way, but this man definitely wasn't Sam. He was shorter, maybe a few inches so, and his light brown fringe was gelled back revealing a creased forehead. She'd actually consider him quite attractive if he wasn't a finger squeeze away from blowing her brains out on the wall behind her.

"Who are you?" He peered just past Robin's shoulder through gauzy white curtains, frantically searching the parking lot. "Who sent you? Huh?" The man pressed his arm further into Robin's throat, earning a gargled cry from her.

Robin tried to cool her brain off and try to find some sort of exit out of the situation, focusing intently on his stone cold expression. She then went completely still against the door and her eyes went wide when she realized where she'd seen him before. He was the man in the article Sam was reading at the diner.

"You're Dean Winchester." It left Robin's mouth before she had the chance to process it. The man's lips pursed and he stole a quick glance behind him, locking eyes with Sam. In the moment he had taken his eyes off of her, his grip on the gun momentarily slackened.

Robin didn't hesitate. Her palm met the barrel of the gun, fingers twisting around it and yanking it from his grasp. Dean's head whipped around and he prepared to fight back, but Robin's foot met his shin first. He groaned against gritted teeth when Robin shoved him backwards and pointed his weapon at his forehead.

The metal cocking of another gun grabbed her attention. Sam had pulled his own gun from the back of his waistband and had it aimed at Robin. His finger was tight on the trigger, as was hers. "Robin?" Sam finally recognized her, now having a clear look at her, further confusing a very vulnerable Dean at his side.

"You know this chick?" Dean snapped, hands dropping to his sides.

Robin shot him a glare at the slightly demeaning comment, but didn't take it personally. She did have a gun pointed at his face, after all, so she had to admit, she deserved it.

"No." Sam said firmly. Yet the more he thought about it, the less sure he appeared. "Well, that's what I don't know. She gave us the food this morning, she was the cashier."

"Look, I know what it looks like, but..." The girl couldn't continue on, knowing if she told him the truth, he would probably shoot her dead. "You left something. I came to return it."

Dean clicked his tongue with a dry laugh. "That's why you waited for us to leave to come and just... drop it off on the bed, hm?" Robin tongued the inside of her cheek, suddenly looking like a deer in headlights. "That's right. You suck at stakeouts, if that's what you were doing." The man on the floor continued to taunt her. 

Robin wanted to argue, but she knew it was too soon to reveal her true intentions. So she slowly raised the barrel of Dean's gun to the sky, lifting her finger off of the trigger. Her other hand followed, signaling her surrender. Sam reluctantly did the same, tucking his weapon back into his pants.