Character - Dean
Type - Dean being protective and then so in loooooovvee (ooh la la)
Word count - 1965
In a small booth smelling faintly of cigarettes and strongly of beer, Dean and Sam give me some final advice.
Don't mention demons. Do flatter him. Don't intimidate him. Do bat your eyelashes. I'm not kidding, Y/N, don't threaten the man.
"I get it, guys. I'm gonna take my position."
"Okay." Dean says, monotone, taking a swig of his beer. He's been off since Sam proposed the idea of using me to get information out of this guy. I mean, I'm fully on board so I don't know what's crawled up his ass. The guy, John something-or-other, is a relatively high profile, disgustingly rich politician who's been hiring demons to do some of his dirty work. You know, getting demons to possess lawyers to get him out of sticky cases, making his competition disappear or back down with the help of the occasional force of evil.
He's slippery, corrupt but also kind of cute. I know, I know, I'm just pointing out a simple fact. Because of stated cuteness, he's known to woo the ladies, and tonight, I'm going to become one of them.
"Any trouble, give us the signal, okay?" Sam places a reassuring hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently.
I nod, my eyes fixed on the target. This isn't the hardest hunt I've been on by any means, but it's still a little nerve-wracking to make a good first impression. I take a deep breath and approach the bar.
I choose a seat two barstools down from the politician - he hasn't noticed me yet, but I'm literally the only female in this bar so (considering his reputation) it shouldn't take long.
As predicted, I feel his eyes on me not even a minute later. I smile to myself.
A drink appears in front of me. It smells fruity and dainty.
"From red shirt." the bartender says absentmindedly, jerking a thumb over to John before returning to busily mix up drinks. With a sultry smile, I casually glance over at him and he perks up, motioning to ask if he can sit next to me. With a moment of faux hesitation, I nod, and he comes over.
Man, he's even prettier up close. My age, maybe a little older, with clear skin and black eyelashes that look longer than mine, despite my mascara. Muscles strain against his white shirt and he's almost as tall as Sam but I know who he is, and none of his charm or good looks will fool me.
"Hey," he says, voice friendly and smoky, "What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"
I give him a long look, paired with a light-hearted smirk. From a deep dive into his dating history, any long term girlfriends have been dark-haired, intoxicatingly cool and from what I can tell, intelligent. I've got to play my part well, or he'll lose interest and I'll lose my opportunity.
Be cool, Y/N.
Believe it or not, that's not something that comes naturally to me.
"Cheesy line," I remark, taking hold of my drink and sipping before continuing, "But good taste in drinks. Is this what you buy all your girls?"
He smiles, sporting dazzling white teeth, "Maybe, maybe not." he replies vaguely in true political fashion.
I look straight ahead at the bar as to not seem too eager. Be cool. "I must warn you..."
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
Okay, that's icky.
"That I'm quite selective about the men I pursue."
"I see," his finger toys with the rim of his glass. "What's your name?"
"Polly," I lie, turning my body to face him with a smile. "And you?"
"John. Harrison." (I knew it was something boring like that.)
"That sounds vaguely familiar."
"John's a common name," he dismisses.
This is going well. If I can get the name of his hotel, that's all we need to hunt him down later and make him give up information. He's wily and he knows there are people who know what he's up to, but a chauvinist like him wouldn't expect me to be one of them. With the establishment's name, we can look for what he may be using to connect with the demons, or, you know, beat him up in private.
John hasn't only had people killed, although their deaths sadden me deeply. It's also his ex-wife who lost the case against him due to a possessed judge, and the two girls who pressed sexual harassment charges against him. I'm also doing this for his main rival, a woman I really look up to, who is next on his kill list because she threatens to beat him at the next election.
I realise my mind's drifted off but John doesn't seem to have noticed - he's looking at my boobs, unabashed.
I cough and his eyes flick up. "I like you, John."
"I like you too, sweetheart." he leans over and tucks my hair behind my ear so he can lean in to whisper something. I resist the urge to cringe away at the unsolicited touching, but I bite my tongue - literally - and wait. "It's getting late... I'm staying at the Indigo Inn, not far from here..."
"Yeah..." I say, breathy and suggestive.
"Yeah, baby." he whispers back.
Then, without any warning, his lips brush against by ear, inching downwards to place a kiss on my jaw. My body goes rigid.
Oh, God.
His hand isn't on the bar anymore, it's invading the hem of my skirt but I'm so close... if only he'd tell me the room number. As my mind threatens to go into flight or flight, I ask, "What room?"
There's no time for subtlety. It's now or never.
"Room 101." he whispers and I can finally breathe again.
His other hand has decided to grip my thigh like he owns me, and I know I won't be able to push off a dude as big as him. My heart aches for a moment for all the women who don't have a Sam or Dean to help them. I shoot my arm into the air and click twice - our signal.
In the blink of an eye, John's head bends backwards and I see Dean with a death-grip on his hair. Before I can even gasp, Dean's punched his face so hard that blood gushes from his nose like a gruesome waterfall. John makes an embarrassing, pig-squeal sort of sound as Dean clutches his collar, saying loudly, "Alright, big boy, this place doesn't tolerate handsy pervs." dragging him over to the exit.
Dean slings him out the door and I even hear a few people clap. Dean walks back in, straightens his leather jacket out and meets my eyes. His face looks calm, although the rise and fall of his chest reveals he's anything but. He looks at me, nods, then almost trips in his haste to get out out the bar.
Without a second thought, I follow him out into the drizzly evening to find him leaning against the side of the building, his bottom lip between his teeth.
"Thanks, Dean."
"Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
I hitch up the end of my skirt to reveal a purple, finger shaped bruise already blooming.
"Son of a bitch." Dean mutters.
"It doesn't hurt. I got the information. Indigo Inn, Room 101."
Dean isn't listening, "I told Sam it was a bad idea. I'm sorry you had -"
"Dean, it's done. I got the info."
"Bitch ran before I could do any real damage." he sneers ruefully, flexing his knuckles that are hanging restlessly by his sides.
"Dean," I say softly, not knowing the best way to put this, "We agreed that if I needed you, you'd pretend to be an old friend and interrupt. We did not agree on you smacking the shit out of him in front of the entire bar."
Dean's jaw stiffens. "I got carried away."
"No, Dean. You were set on hitting him before I signalled, weren't you? Your fist was in his face as soon as I-"
"Okay, fine. I should have stuck to the plan."
"Dean-"
"Is everything okay?" Sam asks, frowning as he emerges from the bar, long hair sticking to his forehead as the rain starts to fall heavier.
Dean and I answer 'yes' and 'no' at the same time.
"I don't know." I sigh, dropping my shoulders as I look from one brother to the next.
"I'll meet you in the car." Dean says grumpily, marching away.
Sam and I exchange a glance. Sam's frown is sympathetic.
"Whatever's up," I say, running a hand over my face in agitation, "He obviously doesn't want to talk about it."
Sam sighs too, but the way he's shifting his weight from one foot to the other makes me think he knows more than I do about something. I stare him down until he clears his throat, "Yeah."
That's all he's giving me? "Is this a brother thing you can't tell me about?"
After a pause, he nods.
"Well, tell Dean to stop acting like a hormonal teenager and spit it out. When he's ready." I add, starting to walk away, before I turn around again, "Actually, no, tell him to spit it out now. He's been weird for a while and I'm sick of it!"
I join Dean in the car and slam the door for good measure. After that... incident, I can feel Dean's keeping something from me. And if Sam won't tell me, there's only one person who can.
"First, it was Tom." I say and immediately, Dean groans.
"I don't want to do this right now."
But I continue. "You intimidated Tom so much that he never asked me out again."
"Stop it." Dean says with no conviction in his voice, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. If he thinks he can stop me, he's sorely mistaken.
"Second, it was that time my ex called and you just happened to not give me the message."
"I was just being a good friend. He sucked."
"Then, thirdly, which I've noticed more looking back on, all the off hand comments about my dating life."
"Ok, ok, are you done?"
I exhale, "Yes."
"Can I say something?"
"Please do."
Dean swallows, "I don't want to talk about this."
"Dean!"
"What? Ok, look."
He turns to look at me, eyes hot and full of emotion, which is something I rarely see so plainly on Dean's face.
"I can't be in love with you." he says finally.
I open my mouth but he carries on (I don't think I'd be able to say anything anyway), "I can't be in love with you, but I am and I know it's selfish but I don't want anyone to... I don't want to see you get hurt, okay? All these hunters you mess around with, they're trouble, believe you me. And although I could treat you better, I can't. If I keep loving you the way I do, if I lose you, I won't recover."
"It's too dangerous and unprofessional and freaking selfish. I'm sorry - really - that I've put you in this position. Can we just forget about this?"
"Hum, let me think about that... No!" I say, frustrated and so shocked, my brain feels like it's short-circuiting. "I - I don't know what to say."
"Don't say anything..."
After an uncomfortable pause, I decide to take a chance:
"Ask me out."
"What?"
"I said, ask me out."
"Y/N."
"Dean."
"We-"
"Dean."
He swallows, sighs and shifts before he uncertainly says, "Would... you want to... go out sometime?"
"Yes, Dean, I'd like that, thank you for asking."
"Y/N, we really can't-"
"I'm free on Friday. You better bring me flowers," I smirk and before Dean can reply, Sam opens the door, slipping into the seat next to me, dripping with water. Dean snaps his eyes to the road and turns on the engine. The impala grumbles to life and the windshield wipers get to work.
I look at Sam and smile smugly, "Dean's taking me out on Friday."
Sam's face lights up immediately, like a kid on Christmas.
"Dean?" I ask.
"Yeah?" If I'm not mistaken, I detect a smile in his voice.
"By the way, roses are my favourite."