Whiter Shade of Pale

Part 1

He doesn't like this. He is going to go on record as not liking this. Sam should be here, but instead, he's off 'healing' with Missouri. Not that Missouri isn't probably the best person to deal with Sam when he's like this, but still, He's Sam's brother. He's the one that is constantly there for him, so why should this be any different? Sighing, he hefts his bag and trudges up the steps to Bobby's, looking back once with possessive fondness at his 'baby'. God, he loves that car. It was his house, his lover, his friend and something that would always be there for him. He remembered the pain he felt when he got out of the hospital almost 2 years ago. Not only had he just lost his father, but he had to see his constant comfort in a crumpled heap. But he fixed that… with his own two hands, he fixed that. Smiling to himself, he taps his foot on the bottom of the door to let Bobby know he was coming in.

"'Bout time you got here. Beer's in the fridge," is the greeting he gets from Bobby. Not that he expects any different. Emotion is definitely not Bobby's strong point. Something he wouldn't have any other way. Guys who constantly have to 'get in touch with their feminine side' are something he tries very hard to avoid. Chick flick moments aren't in his itinerary.

"You said you were bringing in 'special help' for this one. What gives?" Grabbing a beer and using his ring to crack the top off, he savors the first sip, half closing his eyes and enjoying just being alive. He doesn't have much time left, and he knows it, so he relishes every drop he can wring out of the punchbowl of life.

"There's a warlock that's managed to get a coven together. They're using dark arts and imbuing cheap jewelry with spells that are sapping the essences out of the people that buy them," running a hand over his mouth, Bobby grabs one of the many tomes that litters his dwelling and passes it over to Dean. "And before you suggest just taking the jewelry and breaking it, that ain't gonna work. The spell they're using is complicated. The owner doesn't even have to wear the piece for it to take effect. Destroying it would only destroy the vessel that passed the spell, not the spell itself." Draining the remains of his bottle, Bobby gets up to get another one, raising an eyebrow at Dean in a silent question of if he needs a second. Dean nods his assent and flicks his gaze over the book in his lap, which looks like something Sam would consider 'light reading'.

"Alright, how are we going to deal with it then, 'cause I'm assuming just doing nothing isn't on the list." He grins as he absentmindedly flicks the corner of the page with his finger. "I mean, if this 'man-witch' and his evil harem are causing enough trouble to get noticed, what are our options? 'Cause I'm all for just going in and beating this guys head against a wall," he rambles out before he swigs the last of his first beer and grabs the second from Bobby to open and hold comfortably in his hand against his thigh.

Bobby sits down and takes a swallow before turning to glare at Dean, who just smiles back impishly and waits for the explanation. "I'm good when it comes to demon lore and most of the big bads we have to deal with, but when it comes to real magic and the like, I'm just a dabbler. So I called in Devon. Her mother was a real good hunter on account of all the lore she got passed to her by her mom and her mom's mom and so on. Magic runs in the family, so to speak. And by how good Devon is, her daddy must have been a pretty big player as well." Dean can swear he almost hears pride in Bobby's voice.

"I take it you know this 'Devon' pretty well," Dean arches his eyebrow and gives Bobby a look.

"God Dean, get your mind outta the gutter. It's nothing like that. I've known Devon since she was in diapers. She's like a niece to me. Which means," he growls as he lowers his gaze to Dean and stares intently at him, "that you'll be on your best behavior. No hanky-panky, or renegade warlocks and witches won't be the only thing you'll be worrying about."

Hands raised, he grins at Bobby and chuckles out, "I swear Poppa Bear, I'll be good. I'll be very, very good." Of course, just how good, Dean wasn't going to divulge. Although, knowing the people Bobby usually hung out with, he isn't too worried about his libido acting up. Seriously, how hot could a witch be anyway? "Wait," Dean blanches, "she's not going to be another Bela, is she?" The frown that constantly mars his face every time he thinks of that… that… woman, makes its home between his brows.

A smile almost marks his features before Bobby takes pity on the boy. "No, not like Bela at all. Bela's a dabbler, knows enough to get herself in trouble, or to get herself out of it. Bela would have to contact someone about this herself, this is just too out of her league. And I'd put even money that all her contacts would point her to Devon. So, I'm skipping that step and going right to the source. I called her the day before yesterday. She'll be in either late tonight or early tomorrow morning. So I suggest you get some sleep if you need any. I don't know how tired she'll be when she gets in. And she gets the bed." With that, Bobby starts to attempt to pile some of the strewn books together on the table.

"Whoa, wait… what's this? Are you cleaning up? For a girl? You sure you haven't been possessed lately?" Dean smiles while feigning amazement at the simple household chore Bobby now ceases to do while he glares holes through the brat on his couch. He stands up and chugs the rest of his second beer. "If this courtesy extends to me, I'm going to go have a shower. I reek, and we wouldn't want to offend your little witch with my stink," he laughs as he ducks a pizza box thrown at him from the annoyed hat-wearing man.

Closing the bathroom door and still smirking to himself, Dean looks around the chipped white walls before lowering the toilet lid and placing his bag on it. Rifling through it, he pulls out fresh clothes and piles them haphazardly on top of the back of the toilet. Reaching past the curtain he turns on the hot water, letting it warm up before bothering with the cold. Shrugging off his denim button shirt and letting it fall to the floor, he grabs his t-shirt at the nape of his neck and pulls it over his head. Dropping that he uses the toes of first one foot, then the other, to nudge his already unlaced boots off. As the room began to fill with steam, he takes a deep breath. Nothing like a hot shower after 14 hours on the road to make you feel better. Unbuckling his belt, he undoes the button of his fly and lowers the zipper. Grabbing both pants and boxer briefs, he shucks both off and adds them to the increasing pile of discarded clothes on the floor. The socks are the last to join the abandoned apparel. Turning on the cold a quarter of the way, he tests the water with his hand and adjusts the temperature until it was just this side of too hot. Breathing a sigh he steps in.

Hot water almost burning him pours over his hair and down the rest of him, barely having time to gather at the bottom of the tub before running down the drain. Placing both hands on the wall that the nozzle protrudes from, he leans his forehead against the wall and just enjoys the feeling of the water beating on him, burning liquid trails along his skin. Closing his eyes, he allows himself to relax, something he doesn't get to indulge in very often. Especially not lately. Not with this damn time limit hanging over him. Squeezing his eyes tight, he pushes that thought away. He'll deal with the consequences of his actions when he has to, and not a damn minute before.

He goes through the motions of cleaning himself almost mechanically, mind on his brother and how he was doing being so close to their old home. Wondering if Missouri could understand his pain and fear and help him with it. Everyone thought that with old Yellow Eyes dead, Sam's abilities had gone away. Which they appeared to do. It even had most of the demons they'd come against fooled. Until two months ago, when Sammy woke Dean up with his screaming from a vision he'd had. If that had been the worst of it they might have been able to handle it, they had before. But it seems as though the other abilities that had been hinted to him have also started to poke their way through the barrier Sam subconsciously built in his head. At least, that's what Missouri says. And on this, Dean thought she might actually know what she was talking about. I mean, the woman can read peoples minds, for crying out loud. How could she NOT know?

Coming out of his reverie, Dean realizes he's done, and has been for a few minutes – if the temperature of the water was anything to go by. Bending over, he turns the taps off and uses his hands to push most of the water off his body. Stepping onto the worn and centuries old bathmat Bobby refuses to get rid of; he grabs a towel and starts rubbing himself briskly. Sleep was what he needed now, and Bobby had offered him the bed.

Drying himself enough that his clothes wouldn't get damp, he stuffs the pile on the floor into the side of the bag. He should really do laundry while he was here. Much better to do it at Bobby's than to have to hang around some Laundromat where there was nothing to do but stare at frumpy women in hair rollers and sweats reading romance novels and sliding him covert glances. God, he hated Laundromats.

Exiting the bathroom he glances in to see Bobby still feebly trying to put the living room into a sense of semblance. Snorting, he drops his bag by the couch. "I think I will take you up on that snooze offer. Wake me when you make the waffles." Ignoring the look-of-daggers thrown his way, Dean makes his way into Bobby's bedroom and flops himself on the bed, barely taking time to pull the worn afghan over his body before blissful unconsciousness claims him.

Part 2

Light was pouring through the dingy curtains Bobby had over the small window in his room. Pretending not to notice, Dean attempts to go back to sleep. But some small voice in his head tells him he isn't alone. Feigning to still be asleep, he uses his other senses to see if the voice is right. Well, he doesn't hear anyone. But he can smell coffee, and it was nearby. Barely slitting his eyes, he gazes through his lashes at what he can see of the room. He can make out a shape sitting in a chair facing the bed. The shape was holding two cups of coffee. And it seemed to be staring at him. Great, he thinks, this must be Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Resigning himself to dealing with strange people due to his occupation, Dean heaves a sigh and moves to push himself up. "Do you always stare at sleeping people you don't know first thing in the morning?" Okay, that sounded bitchy even to him.

"When I've heard as much about them as I have you, hell yah," came the return quip, along with an outstretched hand holding one of the cups. "Bobby says you like it black, so sit up and take it, else I'll just let it sit here and get cold." The voice passes over him like honey as he blinks and gets his first good look at Bobby's 'niece'.

She's pale. Almost too pale, is his first impression. Her hair is put up in a sloppy half ponytail at the back of her head. It looks dark in this lighting. Very dark, which was a dramatic contrast to the lightness of her skin. Her legs are curled up on the chair with her, so he has no idea how tall she was, but there does seem to be a lot of leg. Focusing in her face, he notices she has full lips, quirked in a smile as she allows him his silent assessment of her. Her face is vaguely oval, with a small nose in the center that could almost be described as cute. He looks up into her eyes and blinks. Her eyes are large, almond shaped and purple? People don't have eyes the color of flowers. But there she is, smiling at him and staring frankly at him with her large purple eyes. Taking in the whole package, he guesses that she's in her early to mid twenties, and he'll admit to himself if no one else, she's beautiful in a vaguely ethereal way. "Drink your coffee before it gets cold, 'cause I ain't going to get you a new one." This said, she grins and takes a sip out of her own cup. Dean obliges by mimicking her.

"So, you're the witch, huh?"

"Sort of. I guess that makes you the smart ass that constantly gets himself into deep shit and doesn't know when to shut his mouth." The smile broadens.

Against his will, he finds an answering grin on his face. "That would be my brother, Sam. I'm the charming one that always comes to the rescue."

"HA!" Laughing, she sticks out her hand. "Devon NicLarrek, at your service. I'd curtsey or something but I'd probably fall out of my chair and waste all this good coffee."

Grasping her hand, he shakes it and replies, "Dean Winchester. I'm surprised I haven't heard Bobby mention you. We've dealt with some hocus pocus critters before and your name's never come up."

Scrunching up her nose, she casts a disgusted look out of the bedroom. "That'd be because 'Uncle Bobby' doesn't like inviting me in unless he has no choice. I'm more of a specialist. Someone you call in when the shit's really hit the fan, metaphysically speaking."

"Oh," Dean raises an eyebrow, "such as?"

Settling into her chair more, Devon takes another sip before answering. "Such as some idiot in Lafayette finds a book with a bunch of weird words in it that used to be his great grandmothers, who used to be a hoodoo priestess, and decides to read from it – causing the recently dead in the area to rise and wreak havoc among the local populace. That kind of shit." Blinking slowly, she smiles at him and tilts her head to the side. "You know, you're not at all what I thought you'd be like. The way Bobby talks about you, I thought you'd have 'badass' written all over and be wearing leather pants and fishnet shirts and have a box of condoms tied to your arm." Grinning, she stands abruptly and starts out of the bedroom. "Breakfast is ready when you are. Nice to finally meet you, Dean."

Staring blankly at Devon's retreating figure, Dean can only guess at what the hell Bobby has been telling people about him. And to wonder what the flower-eyed witch thought of him now that she'd met him. Setting his coffee down on the bedside table, he huffs and scrubs quickly at his face. Well, at least he could take solace in the fact that she wasn't a sheet wearing hippy that waved burning sage around everywhere. Sage gave him a hell of a headache. Brushing his hands back through his hair he figures he's as presentable as he's going to get. Standing slowly he retrieves his coffee and starts into the kitchen. If she's half as sassy with Bobby as she was with him, this is going to be fun. That thought put a grin on his face as he entered the kitchen.

Bobby is at the stove cooking a skillet full of eggs, another of bacon was on the back burner – sizzling and popping enticingly. The radio on the windowsill is quietly crooning out CCR's Susie Q. One good thing about being at Bobby's was that he at least has decent taste in music. Devon has made herself comfortable on one of the raggedy chairs around the square Formica topped table. One of her legs is tucked up under her and she was currently working on a mouthful of toast. Her gaze is unfocused and her head seems to be moving slowly along to the music. There's a pitcher of orange juice on the table along with a full plate of buttered toast and another of nicely crisp sausages. "I didn't realize you were so handy in the kitchen Bobby, otherwise Sammy and I might have found the time to come by and visit more often." Pulling a chair out, he settles himself into it and looks up in time to see the look of evil Bobby throws him.

"You know," Devon whispers loudly, "you keep teasing him and he might get distracted and burn the food." Snaking out her pale arm, she latches on to a sausage and pulls it over to her plate. Leaning over it, she raises the sausage to her mouth and takes a healthy bite out of it. "Which would be a shame," she continues with her mouth half full, "'cause he can actually cook. And I'm hungry." Cheek bulging, she half turns in her chair to give Bobby a huge grin and bat those impossibly long lashes at him in an obvious overload of cute.

"You just quit your jabbering and eat. Eggs are ready and so's the bacon. Give me your plate." Bobby turns around and whisks her plate out from under her, leaving her to cup her empty hand under the half-eaten sausage to prevent grease from dripping on the already stained table. Dean lifts his plate and grins at Bobby. Pointing the spatula at Dean, Bobby just blows out a breath and turns back to the stove. "You got two feet and a heartbeat. Get up and serve yourself. I ain't your maid." This said he places the full plate back under Devon's cupped hand and smiles at her. Dean can't believe Sam is missing out on Bobby acting like a housewife. Thinking of Sam, he reminds himself to call him after breakfast.

Bob Seger's Night Moves is soundtrack to the quiet eating sounds emanating from all three individuals as they make short work of their food. Dean watches as Devon sighs with satisfaction and leans back in her chair to lick the grease off the fingers she seems to enjoy using to more than the cutlery. He looks over to see Bobby frowning at him. Well, he can certainly see now why Bobby has been worried about his reaction to Devon. Not one to resist a chance to drive Bobby crazy, he grins impishly at him and turns to Devon. "I'm assuming Bobby's filled you in on the deal… what's your plan?"

Finishing off the last of her juice, she wipes her mouth on her napkin, crumpling it and putting it on her now-empty plate. "Well, I'm thinking I need to do a little recon of these jackasses. Test the waters, so to speak. Gauge the power level of the warlock himself, then the coven as a whole. Make sure I know what I'm getting myself into." Getting up, she grabs Bobby's plate as well as Dean's and stacks them under hers, sliding the used cutlery on top of the pile. Stepping over to the counter she deposits her load in the sink and runs the water, squeezing a bit of soap into the stream while she continues talking. "I know I got called in to deal with the magical element so I can only assume that since you're here, some of the coven members are either non-magical or they've hired help to protect them for some of the higher draining spells they might do. Not to say that I can't kick some serious ass all by myself, but I'm pretty sure I'll have my hands full with the Grand Poobah of Suckiness."

"First I want you to take a look at one of the victims. See if you can trace the spell or if you can figure out a way to break it without causing the woman any more harm." Bobby gets up and subtly tries to move Devon away from the sink where she's starting to scrub the first of the dishes.

"You know, I could always jump right in the middle of this and just go buy one of the pieces myself. I mean, it's not like the spell would be able to have much of a hold on me, if any. And it would certainly give me a first hand look at what the spell is." Leaning back against the counter, she folds her arms against her stomach and looks at Bobby doing the dishes. "And you have got to get over this phobia you have of other people doing cleaning or the like in your house. It's ridiculous. I can wash a few bloody dishes."

Glancing up at her, Bobby blows out a breath and goes back to washing. "You are most certainly not going to purposely buy a cursed item just to get a better look. Use your damn head girl. Could you imagine the amount of power this coven could get if they successfully leeched off of you? Not to mention you're the most qualified to save these people, which I doubt you'll be able to do if you're a goddamn empty husk that's been sucked of its essence. You'll go see Mrs. Foster this afternoon. You should be able to get the gist of the spell from her. She seems to have had it on her the longest and she seems most likely to go first if death is the end result of this spell." Looking over at Dean, he nods his head at him, "You are going to make sure this one doesn't get into any trouble while she's out here. We've had enough of people making stupid decisions for last few years."

Stifling the urge to tell Bobby that his choices are none of his damn business, Dean gets up and walks to the coffee pot to pour himself another cup. "I need to make a call. I'll be out in a bit." Walking into the bedroom he shuts the door and digs his cell phone out of his jacket that's hanging over the end of the bed. Pressing the speed dial button, Dean waits while it rings. Sitting with his back against the headboard he gets comfortable.

"Hey Dean."

"Hey Sammy. How's Missouri?"

"Same as last time you saw her. Strangely, I've gotten used to her telling me what I was thinking before I say it."

"Yah, well, I'm just glad I'm not near enough for her to hit me with that freakin' spoon of hers. Dude, it's not a spoon. It's a small bludgeoning object from the medieval times."

"Dean, you did put your feet on her table after she'd told you not to."

Dean shrugs even though he knows Sam can't see it over the phone. "Enh, I forgot." Taking a breath he closes his eyes. "How's the other stuff?"

Dean can hear the static as silence replaces Sam's breathing. "It's scary, Dean. I mean, I was getting used to being normal again when all of a sudden I'm back to being the chosen of a psycho demon that's dead. Not to mention that all this had to happen when we only have 4 more months to figure out a way to get you out of that deal."
Sighing, Dean rubs his eyes. "Come on Sammy. We've already tried what we could. I'm not getting out of this deal and it's time you dealt with the reality of it. I can tell you that I'm going to be doing nothing but spoiling my baser urges completely for the last month."

"Dean, there are tons of options we haven't looked at. We haven't even figured out who the Crossroads Demon's boss is. Maybe if we can figure that out we can force him to cha…"

"Sam! Enough. I've told you before, I'm not having that damn demon take you away from me for trying to sneak my way out of this deal."
"But you're okay with having him take you away from me because you had to be selfless enough to sell your soul to bring me back from the dead?!"

Sam's anger and frustration is almost palpable even through the phone. "Look, Sammy, we've got 4 months left before I take the Ozzy train. I don't want to spend them fighting with you."

He can hear the sigh over the line. "I know. But you also know I'm not going to give up on this."

"I know Sam. I'd do the same for you."

"Dean, you did more for me."

"It's what big brothers do. Take care of their little brothers that seem to get themselves into shit that's way too deep. And I'll keep on doing it."

"And I'll keep being a pain in the ass and trying to get you out of the crap you get into trying to save my ass."

"Damn straight. So, guess what you missed this morning…."

Part 3

Heading down the steps, Dean waits at the bottom for Devon to join him so they can go meet Mrs. Foster and she can get a better idea of the spell. It still seemed a little weird to him, but Dean has never seen any real magic that hasn't been done by a demon or something that he wasn't sent after to kill. Smiling at Devon as she exits and quickly makes her way down the stairs he watches as her eyes seem drawn to something over his shoulder and to the left. A grin crosses her face as she just stops and stares. Dean follows her gaze and breaks into a huge smile when he sees that she's grinning at his baby. "Like her?"

"This is yours?" She barely flicks her glance to him before continuing to stare at the 67 Impala. "This… is a car. This is a gorgeous, powerful car." Devon advances slowly towards it, skimming her hand just above the surface of the vehicle.

Dean feels pride flow through him and wonders if this is what it feels like to have a child that got onto the honor roll. Coming up behind her he goes to the trunk and unlocks it. "Want to see what she packs?"

"Really? I bet she's fully loaded." Making her way to the back of the car she waits impatiently beside Dean while he takes his time unlocking and opening the trunk.

"Nice to know that a machine like this can still be appreciated." Lifting the trunk all the way open, he snags the false bottom and uses the sawed-off to prop it up. "Well, what do you think?"

Staring at the mini-arsenal that lay before her, Devon also notices that each weapon looks as though it's been well cared for and kept in good repair. She backs up a step and takes in the entire package. "I think I so want to make babies in the back of this car."

A surprised laugh bursts out of Dean as he closes the weapons locker and trunk. "How about we settle for you riding shotgun?" Striding over to the drivers side, Dean unlocks the door and slides in, stretching over to unlock the passenger door.

"Shotgun I can deal with… for now." Throwing a sly grin at him she buckles her seatbelt and leans back against the seat, fully prepared to enjoy the ride while she can. Closing her eyes she enjoys the ride, the company and the tunes that are pounding out of the speakers as they make their way into town.

Dean steals a quick glance at his passenger while he maneuvers the car along the winding dirt roads. So far, he likes her. And if he wasn't mistaken, she was more than a little interested back. Bobby will more than likely kill him, but as he took stock of the long legs wrapped in faded black denim and the dark grey t-shirt that fit just snugly enough across her chest, he thinks it might be worth it. He pictures those legs stripped down and wrapped around his waist. How her hair would look if it was down and strewn across the bed. How those eyes would look up at him from a face flushed and sweaty. "You're going to have to share with the rest of the class what's got that smirk on your face." Interrupting his thoughts, she looks at him lazily through the screen of her lashes.

"Nothing," he says hastily as he clears his throat, "just something Sam said to me earlier." Oh yah, Bobby is definitely going to kill him. Devon just grins and goes back to closing her eyes and quietly lip synching to the music. Dean sighs in relief that she doesn't press for more and concentrates very hard on his driving. Twenty minutes later, they arrive at their destination.

"Should I wait here?"

"Why? I'm not coming here to carry on a secret girl meeting about why we do the things that drive you crazy." Opening the door, she steps out onto the driveway, leaning down to look in at him. "I just need to feel her out. And that's 'out', not 'up'." She laughs as she closes the door. "You should really see the look on your face. It's such a Bobby look."

"Nothing about me says 'Bobby'. I'm the most un-Bobby like person that exists," he says in an almost offended tone. Getting out, he makes sure both doors are locked before catching up to her at the steps. "I'm just not used to a girl with your sense of… humor."

"You mean you're not used to a girl as mouthy as you," she challenges.

"That's not what I said."

"But it's what you meant. Shh… she's coming." Flicking her hand at him, she hits him gently on the arm and pastes on a smile.

A woman in her late forties answers the door. She looks like she's been dealing with the flu for the last 10 years. "Um, hello…"

"Hello ma'am. Are you Mrs. Foster?" Devon beams at the woman.

"Yes. Can I help you?"

"I certainly hope so ma'am. I'm Ms. Nicks with Cassington Co. This is my colleague, Mr. Fogerty. We had a shipment of metals come out this way for a jewelry store, one "Cast 4 U". There's been some miscommunication as to the nature of the shipment. We've gone to the store and they say that they've used the entirety of the shipment in the last batch of amulets and jewelry they did. Since they didn't happen to have any on hand at the shop, my colleague and I requested addresses for any of their clientele that they may have sold that particular shipment to. You, Mrs. Foster, are first on our list." Finishing her spiel, Devon attempts her best to look harmless, which Dean thinks she pulls off pretty easily. Much easier than Sam or he have been able to pull sometimes. Although, why he gets stuck with John Fogerty, he has no idea.

"Oh. There's nothing wrong with the metal is there?" Mrs. Foster clutches at the neck of her shirt nervously, obviously concerned that she's been sold a necklace made out of plutonium or something similar.

"No ma'am. Nothing like that, I assure you. Just a small miscommunication as to the nature of the metal used. Both are similar in texture and malleability, but one is drastically more costly than the other, meaning we'd have to adjust our bill accordingly – taking into consideration our fault in the mix-up. Nothing you yourself would be charged with, but the store may have to end up paying a significantly larger amount than they intended if they got the wrong shipment." Dean is impressed with how easily the lie slips off her tongue, and how easily Mrs. Foster seems to relax around them.

"Please, come in. I only bought the one necklace, it was so pretty, I couldn't resist. Normally I don't bother with things like that. Just a minute, I'll go get it for you. Please, have a seat on the couch." Stepping aside, she ushers them in while she hustles off to go find the necklace for them to inspect.

Leaning over, Dean whispers into her ear, "You getting anything yet?"

"Something, but not enough to define it. I think I might have to touch her or the necklace to get the full story." Frowning, Devon seems to scent the air before pasting the smile back on her face for Mrs. Foster, who re-enters the room. "That's a lovely painting Mrs. Foster. It complements the décor perfectly."

Smiling, Mrs. Foster comes over to stand next to Devon who's looking up at the painting in question. "My husband bought it for my birthday years ago. It's always been my favorite. Here," she says she hands over the necklace, "I do hope they got the right shipment. They do such lovely work; I'd hate for them to have any trouble over something like this."

Dean watches as Devon takes the necklace, touching both it and Mrs. Foster's hand at the same time. He watches as she pales – if such a thing was possible – and tries to regain her composure. Dean distracts Mrs. Foster with a question of who the painter is, keeping an eye on Devon. She takes a few deep breaths to center herself, then turns back to Mrs. Foster, handing her back the necklace. She was careful to keep herself from touching the woman again. "It seems that luck is with your jeweler Mrs. Foster. This is from the shipment they originally placed." Her smile a little less than bright, Devon starts towards the door. "We're sorry to have bothered you, but it's always better to be sure."

"Of course, Ms. Nicks. It wasn't a problem at all. I enjoyed the company." Smiling at them both, she leads them to the door and waves as they both make their way back to the car.

"Okay, what the hell was that," Dean asks impatiently when they're safely in the car.

"Just get me away from here. Now please." Devon is holding the hand that touched Mrs. Foster with a vacant look in her eyes. "It's disgusting. Completely against any of the laws of nature. I am so going to kick this guys ass." Glowering at nothing in particular she crosses her arms and sits back against the seat.

"I thought you were going to pass out in there." Starting the car, he guns the engine and pulls back onto the road.

Ignoring the remark she continues to glare holes through the windshield. "We're going to go stake out their coven space. I need to get more of a sense of the spell itself, not just the effects it has on the victims. This needs to stop, Dean. What they're doing is against any laws of decent magic. It's not just their essences they're stealing. They're filtering their souls too. When these people die, and they will, their souls will belong to this warlock. I…I…" stuttering, she turns to look at Dean in horror, "I think he's using demon magic to collect souls. To either turn them over to a demon for some boon or to use for himself. I can only imagine what he'll force those poor people to do." Staring miserably out the window she waits for them to arrive at the stake-out spot.

"You got all that from one touch?"

"Every different kind of magic has its own particular flavor. White magic, black magic, hoodoo, pagan. This magic is evil. As in 'born in brimstone and fed on blood' evil. Evil taints, and once you know it you never forget it. I've come across it a few times, and I'd bet good money that that's what this is. And this guy… this evil son of a bitch, he's powerful." Hugging her arms across her chest, she seems to huddle into the seat.

"Evil and powerful, huh? Well, you're in luck. It just so happens that kicking the asses of evil and powerful sons of bitches is a specialty of mine." Dean smiles over at her in a feeble attempt to cheer her up. A faded smile touches her lips. They were at the factory in mere minutes. It was an abandoned slaughter house. Shaking his head, Dean looks at the building through the screen of trees. "You mean to tell me Voldemort uses an old meat factory for his evil secret meetings?"

Laughing, Devon turns to him, "I can't believe you just said that."

"What," he smirks, "you didn't think I'd know who Voldemort was?"

"No, I can't believe you just admitted to watching Harry Potter." She grins at him and shifts her hand to the door handle. "Just please don't tell me you have some kind of sick fan boy crush on Hermione."

He just looks at her. "Dude. That's wrong on so many different levels." Shuddering, he exits the car and moves to follow her around to the side of the building. "So what exactly are we doing? Call me crazy, but I thought 'stake-out' meant sitting in the car eating take-out and watching from a distance." Dean tells himself silently that he's not watching her ass as she climbs over a log.

"We will, as soon as I get a look around the outside. I want to see if they have any wards up that I may have to worry about later. Be prepared and all that."

"Isn't that the boy scout motto?"

"I won't tell if you won't. Wouldn't want them to get worried some cootie-infested girl was using their saying." She looks over her shoulder at him and winks.

"It'll be our little secret." He's surprised by how easy it is to talk to her. Probably due to the fact that she seems to have the same sense of humor and affable manner that he does. He also realizes that it's been a long time since he's been able to be completely up front with a girl about his work and his personality. He doesn't have to worry about hurting her feelings or hiding the weirdness that is his life from her. He makes a mental note to get her number before this case is over.

"Stop." She holds up a hand and pauses in mid-step. Dean halts behind her and goes on alert, senses straining to pick up whatever caught her attention.

"What? Magic or people?"

She smiles. "Neither. Stay here for a minute; I need to talk to someone." Devon starts off deeper into the woods.

"Hey, talk to who? There's no one out here." He stares at her as she turns to him.

"Just trust me on this, k? They're shy and won't come out if they think you'll see them. I promise I'll be right back." And with that, she takes a few steps and seems to blend into the forest.

"I am so going to have to learn how to do that," Dean says to himself as he shrugs and resigns himself to waiting for her to get back. She confuses and intrigues him. On one hand, she seems like a perfectly normal girl with an awesome attitude, good taste in music and who was drop-dead gorgeous. Then she poofs in the middle of a forest and he remembers that she's been called in because she's some kind of uber witch. He just can't see her hovering over a cauldron and petting toads. He leans back against a tree and crosses his arms over his chest. He looks around to see if he can see a trace of her or whatever it was she's 'talking' to. All he can see are trees and dirt and sky. Maybe she's communing with a chipmunk. He smirks at the thought of her kneeling on the ground holding a walnut out as an offering to Chip and Dale in return for information. Rolling his eyes he pushes himself off the tree and turns to get a better look at the building. It looks like any abandoned factory. Graffiti, wear, broken windows and a half torn down chain link fence surrounding it. He notices fresh marks in and around the parking lot. Seems like this was indeed what they were looking for. Something touches his shoulder and he whirls around, grabbing it and pushing it against the nearest tree before realizing what it is.

"Slightly touchy are we? I'm all for a bit of fun but come on Dean, you haven't even bought me a drink yet." Devon laughs at the look on his face as she moves out from under his now slack arm.

Not sure which comment to answer to first he just looks at her for a minute before replying. "You're sneaky. Sneaky people don't get drinks. They do, however, get to tell the person they're working with about their secret conversation with invisible shy forest people."

"They aren't invisible. Just really good at not being seen. And as for the secret conversation, how about we go over that in the car on the way to get food for our stake-out. I'm getting hungry." She blinks those impossible eyes at him and heads back to the car without waiting for an affirmation from him.

"We're not going to check for your wards?"

"Nope. My secret invisible friend told me they don't have any. So we just have to watch and see how many there are. Then I'm gonna sneak up and see if I can see exactly what the spell includes. I need to get as much information on it as I can before I go tampering with it. Good intentions and all."

Frowning, Dean opens the door and slides in before turning to her as she snicks her seatbelt into place. "Define 'sneak up'. I'm not exactly sure I want some powerful evil man-witch and his followers catching me spying on them and turning me into a toad. Not a big fan of bugs."

She chuckles at him. "I don't know, Dean. You might make a pretty cute toad. If they did, I could always try kissing you to turn you back."

Looking over at her with a smirk he responds with, "Well it might just be worth it then. Of course, I might need more than a kiss."
Devon rolls her eyes and smacks his arm. "You're a smartass."

"True. But you like it." He smiles that devilish smile.

"Yes, I do." She smiles wickedly back at him.

Part 4

"Stop hogging all the fries." She grabs futilely at the basket Dean's holding out of her reach. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to share?"

"Hey, I'm not the one with all the onion rings. Pass those over and I'll consider letting you have some fries." He looks over at the half-empty box on the other side of her lap.

She grumbles as she passes them over in exchange for the fries. "We should have got more. I would have if I had known you ate like a garbage disposal." Dipping a fry into the massive gob of ketchup in the basket she devours it with obvious enjoyment, closing her eyes and chewing contentedly. Dean tries not to stare.

"Last time I checked girls only ate salads and wafers."

"Pff, please. Do I look like some fake and bake Barbie that gives a crap about diets and exercise? I have far more important things to concern myself with. Like evil warlocks and how I'm going to convince you to go for a drink with me with this is over." She pops another fry in her mouth and tries not to return the grin that appears on his face.

"Oh yah, Barbie," Dean breathes teasingly. He gets a smack on the shoulder for his effort.

"You are absolutely horrible. Where's the pop?" She peers around the containers taking up the majority of the empty space on the seat. Poking her hand through the garbage, she crows in triumph as she finds the almost empty bottle and untwists the top, lifting it to her lips and taking a healthy swallow. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she tilts the bottle at him in silent offering. He grabs it and takes a swig, tasting the salt of the fries she's left on the rim.

"So we've eaten and it looks like we have some time on our hands. Feel like filling me in on the secret conversation now?" Dean crumples the empty onion ring box. Reaching for the bag their food came in he starts stuffing all the empty containers into it. Mustn't make a mess of his car.

"I suppose I could be capable of doing that." She stretches her arms and legs out to their fullest, holding the pose with a scrunched up look on her face. Then she collapses contentedly against the door, turning in to look at him with one knee up and her hands clasped over it. "I was talking to a sprite." She looks straight at him.

"A sprite? Like, Tinkerbell?" Dean looks at her trying to assess if she's joking with him or not.

She laughs. "Tinkerbell was supposed to be a pixie, but you have the general idea."

"There's a difference between sprites and pixies?"

"Very much so. There are a multitude of different fey species. Most people just put them all under the category of 'fairy'. Which is wrong. And if you ever have to deal with any fey, it's best to know what kind and address them accordingly. Otherwise you could land yourself in a world of crap. Most fey are not very forgiving of what they consider a major insult."

"Okay. So you talked to Tinkerbell. And what'd she say." Dean was going to think about the relevance of fairies existing later. Right now, he has a job to do.

"She pretty much told me what I'd already guessed. They were using blood magic to drain both the souls and essences of the people they sold the trinkets to."

"Blood magic… so they're sacrificing people?" Dean was liking this guy less and less.

"They did at the start. It was the catalyst for the spell. Now they're using the essences they're stealing to fuel the rest of the spell, to siphon the souls. It's just as bad and just as effective. And this way, they don't have to worry about more people going missing. I definitely don't use magic like this, but I'll admit I'm impressed at the ingenuity and complexity of this spell." She did sound almost impressed. Glancing up and seeing the look in his face, she quickly added, "I'm still going to kick his ass, physically and metaphysically. But Dean, for someone in my line of work, this is pretty amazing. It'd be like you going up against some guy that had a weapon that could kill demons, shoot fire, make them invisible, automatically hit any target he shoots at and grants him invulnerability while it exists, all while fitting in one hand. And he's using it against you. You can want it to be destroyed so you can deal with him, but you can't help but admire its existence. "

Dean thinks for a minute. That would be a pretty cool weapon. Alright, so he can see where she's coming from. And he's very glad that he is just into weapons and hunting, not fiddling around with potions and amulets. He knows what he can do with a gun and knife, not so sure about potions and powders. Taking a breath, he nods at her and waits for her to continue. "So what exactly are we doing here? I mean, what else do you need to know?"

"She could only tell me what she could sense from where she was. She wasn't getting closer and I don't blame her. I need to know what other elements they're using, if any, and what they're using as a holding source. They have to be containing the essence and souls in something. I need to see what. And what they're using for protection on it. 'Cause they may not have the area warded, but I can guarantee they're not leaving their circle unguarded." Blowing at a piece of hair that has slid over her nose to the side, she settles back against the door.

"And we have to wait for them to get here to do this?"

"Well, I'd prefer make sure no one's going to sneak up and zap my butt. And I'd like to see as much of the actual spell work as possible. I want to go into this guessing as little as possible. Magic is very," she puts her hand out flat and waggles it, "unstable. It almost has a mind of its own sometimes. Which is why dabblers get themselves into so much trouble. Movies and books have made it into some kind of fad. It's actually quite disgusting. And don't get me started on the internet." Rolling her eyes she groans. "You can find more 'spells and potions' on there than instructions on making napalm nowadays. Sadly, some of them are real. Hence the whole 'I'm here to save you from yourself, you stupid idiot' gig I got going on. Some of the people I deal with drive me up the wall."

He wonders if she's ever had to deal with Bela. There was a person who could definitely fit that category. "Hey, you ever come across an artifact dealer named Bela?" He figures it can't hurt to ask. From the look he's now getting from her, he might have to take that back.

"Why," she asks in a tight voice, "you friends with her or something?"

"Hell no. She's a royal pain in the ass. I just remember Bobby mentioning that if she needed a magical contact she'd have to call you."

Devon narrows her eyes. "Let's just say she's lucky I'm not like this guy, or else she'd be in separate jars in my closet by now."

"Remind me not to piss you off."

"I highly doubt you could achieve the level of… of… God! I hate that woman. She's just so…" unable to find the words she wants, she exhales her frustration and punches her closed fist into her open palm. "That's what I'd do."

Dean struggles not to laugh at the female embodiment of 'pissed off' sitting beside him. "I have absolutely no doubt that she deserves whatever she has coming from you. She had my car towed once." He frowns at the memory. That hadn't been the least bit funny.

She blinks at him. "This car? This beautiful sex machine? She dared? Okay, now I'm really pissed off." She strokes the dashboard soothingly. "Poor baby. Did that nasty bitch put her prissy little hands on you? Well don't worry, I can fix that when we're done with all this."

"You can what?" Dean raises an eyebrow and looks questioningly at her.

"You don't think I'm going to leave this car unprotected? Hell, you don't even have to ask nicely. With your permission," she says as she bows her head at Dean, "I can put some anti-theft spells on her. Maybe something specifically for that English tart as well. I can do a whole batch for you. We'll work up what you want and I'll make sure to do it before I leave. If that's something you're interested in, of course." She smiles as she looks at the man gaping across from her.

"You can make her theft proof? No one can steal her?" She nods. "So, you mentioned something about a drink after this?" Dean smiles widely.

"Well at least I know how to stay in your good graces now. Make your car invincible. If only everyone was so easily satisfied."

"I'm a simple man."

"Don't say that where Bobby can hear you, you'll never hear the end of it." She grins as she pokes at him.

Rolling his eyes he rests his hand on the wheel. "Tell me about it." Tapping the beat of Zeppelin's Kashmir that's playing as background noise against his leg, he smiles at this strange girl that he's glad he gets to meet. He's also sure Bobby is going to be regretting having to introduce them, if he isn't already. He is very interested in getting to know Devon more. A lot more. In a room far, far away from Bobby. How could he not like a girl that actually eats, appreciates an excellent car when she sees one, is sassy and hates Bela as much as he does? He's brought out of his musing by a nudge.

"Hey, someone's pulling into the lot. I think it's party time." Sitting up straight, she stares out the window at the vehicle settling itself into a section of the now occupied lot. It's a dark blue Honda civic. Dean snorts. It's a piece of crap. He peers past Devon's shoulder at the figure emerging from the driver's side. It's a man, medium height with light skin, although nowhere near as light as Devon's. He can see from here that the guy needs to lose at least thirty pounds. He looks over at Devon and sees her staring intently at the figure walking towards the building. She turns her head to catch his eyes. "He's mine." The intensity that comes with that statement keeps Dean from attempting to argue with her.

"I'm just here to back you up… for now. As far as how to deal with it, this is your show. I'm following yours and Bobby's lead. He called you in because this is your specialty. He called me in because kicking ass is mine." Dean doesn't look away from her gaze as he speaks. "But if I see you getting your ass handed to you, don't think for a minute I won't jump in."

Devon just stares at him for a minute, mulling it over. "Fine. I can deal with that. Besides, if I really am getting my ass handed to me, we're all in shit." She turns her attention back to the cars that are finding their own spaces around the lot. "I'll give it another fifteen, twenty minutes. Then I think it's sneaking time. You don't have to come if you don't want. I think I can manage this on my own."

Dean snorts. "Yeah right. Then something happens to you and Bobby skins me alive. Besides, something might happen and if I didn't come along, I'd miss it. And we can't have that now, can we?" He grins. "Should I bring anything just in case? Shotgun, rock salt, big pointy knife?"

"Actually, the rock salt isn't a bad idea. I'm not sure how well it will work, but salt can disrupt most magic. Make a circle around yourself, throw it at them, shoot them with it or whatever you need to do to distract them and get away." She chews her bottom lip before adding, "Just try to not make the confrontation tonight. I'd rather wait until I've had some rest and a little more information before I go charging in to end this shit."

He mock salutes her. "Yes Ma'am." That gets him a smile. "It's now or never." He opens the door and waits until he can catch her eye over the hood of the car. "I know you won't believe it, but I can go completely unnoticed."

She smirks. "I have no doubt in your stealth skills. I'm going to have to cast on you before we go in though. I don't want them picking you up if they have a psychic or something similar."
He's not sure he likes the sound of that. "Cast what, exactly."

"It's sort of an aura muting spell. Makes you less visible to magic if it's looking for intruders. We're trying to mask our presence and I'm sure they have some kind of warning spells in there, especially if they're working magic. Now come here." She gestures him over to the back of the car. "Grab what you need."

He does as she suggests and then stands there facing her, wondering at what comes next. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply a few times. When she opens them Dean gasps. Her eyes are softly glowing. A small smile flits over her lips before she places her hands on either side of his head. She doesn't say anything but Dean can suddenly feel a warmth flood his body, starting from where her hands touch him and encompassing him entirely. It fades softly, as does the glow from her eyes. "That," he says in a hushed voice, "was cool."

"Honey, you ain't seen nothing yet." She gives him a saucy wink and heads off without a backwards glance. Dean really hopes that's true.

Part 5

Dean watches as the girl ahead of him sticks her tongue out at him before jogging up the stairs and tapping on the door as she opens it. "You'd better be decent. I've had enough scarring experiences in my life." She calls out to Bobby as they make their way into the house. "We picked up food. And beer."

Bobby comes in from the kitchen and passes them each a beer as he takes the case from Devon. He leaves Dean to bring the food in himself. Dean's not surprised. "What'd you find out?" That's Bobby, straight to business.

"Well, I found out Dean has excellent taste in cars and music. And he has a great ass."

Bobby closes his eyes and silently counts to five. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. What did you find out about the spell?"

"Yeah, that. It's big. And costly. He's taking their souls as well, Bobby." Devon's face lost some of its humor as she fills Bobby in on what they've learned. "He's got a deal with a demon of some sort. He's collecting the souls for it and I have no idea what he's getting in return. They're using an Eye of Hades to house the souls. That alone tells me this guy knows more than your average practitioner. The coven that's working with him is part of it and they don't even know how much. Their souls are tied in with the spell and when it's completed, they're forfeit. I think the only reason he's managed it without them knowing is that none of them are powerful. He has them all convinced that they're wielders of some big magic, but the only thing they're really good for is for the soul energy they're supplying to the spell. It needs souls freely given. Which they've all unknowingly done. So I'm not worried about any of them bothering me with this, but I am a little worried about this demon. I don't want it popping up at the wrong freakin' time." She stops to take a long pull on her beer. Dean's sorting out the food from the take-out bags and listening along.

"Is this something you can do? I ain't gonna watch you bite off more than you can chew on something I called you in for." Bobby goes over and pulls out three plates to set beside the makeshift buffet Dean's putting together.

"If it was just the magic element I wouldn't even be concerned, but this demon addition makes me glad it's you that called me in. You, Dean and I will figure something out. We're like the Justice League of the Paranormal. If one can't do it, the other can." She shrugs as she grabs a plate and starts piling food on. "You figure out what we need to do if a demon shows up, I'll get the stuff together I'll need for Mr. Evilpants and Dean can prepare an arsenal for fighting witches and demons." She pauses and glances over at Bobby. "We're going to need more rock salt." Sitting down she grabs a piece of chicken and starts munching.

"I got a stash in the cellar. Help yourself." Pulling out a chair, Bobby seats himself and starts eating. Dean looks at the two of them for a brief second, then joins them at the table and digs into his meal as well. If Sam were here, this would be almost perfect. He wonders what Sam would think of Devon. He'd probably get just as exasperated with her as he does with Dean. He uses the excuse of wiping his mouth to cover the grin that appears with that thought. He watches as Devon reaches an arm across the table and snags one of the still warm biscuits, breaking it open and slathering butter on it. She closes her eyes and she takes a massive bite, making a contented sound while she chews slowly. "You're just as bad as this one," Bobby gestures at Dean.

"And that's a bad thing?" Devon mumbles through the masticated mouthful.

"So," Dean asks with a barely suppressed smirk, "a great ass, hmm?"

Swallowing quickly, Devon looks over with an equally impish glint in her eye. "Very much so, but, you knew that already."

"Doesn't hurt to have it reaffirmed."

"Mmmm, I'll bet. Like I didn't notice you checking me out during our little trek in the woods."

"Can you blame me?" Dean wonders how long Bobby can sit there with the same mouthful of food without swallowing.

"No, but you still have to take me out for that drink. Especially if you want to sweet talk me into protecting your sex on wheels." Sneaking a glance at Bobby, Devon almost giggles at the amazing tint of red he's become.

"Both of you," comes the rumbling interruption, "shut your yaps and eat your dinner. Devon, you need to get some rest after. If we're going up against someone this unknown, I don't want you tripping over your feet 'cause you didn't get enough sleep. Dean, you can sleep in your car." Getting abruptly to his feet, Bobby begins clearing up the remains of dinner.

"Aw, Bobby. You know you're still the man in my life." Fluttering those long lashes at him, she steps up and squeezes him from behind. "The big, over protective and squishy man." Kissing him on the cheek, she turns and rolls her eyes at Dean. "You're right though, I am beat. Bed sounds good. I'll grab a shower in the morning. Enjoy what's left of the night." Blowing both men a kiss, she makes her way to the bedroom, where they can both hear the door close with an audible click.

Turning and fixing Dean with a look, Bobby raises a finger and points it at Dean. "I thought I told you to behave."

"Hey, I didn't start it. But I'm certainly enjoying myself." A boyish smile lights up Dean's face.

Sighing in resignation, Bobby hangs his head. "I know who started it. And this is why I didn't want you two to meet in the first place. You're too damn much alike." Lifting his gaze to Dean, he mutters, "Just do me a favor and keep it out of my face. There are things about that little girl I don't wanna know." Going to the fridge to get a beer, Bobby makes his way out of the kitchen to go brood in the living room. Dean once again cannot believe Sam is missing out on all this. Making his way to the basement, he figures he'll grab some of the offered rock salt and set up some of the equipment he needs, since he's been banished to the car. Not that he minds, but it would certainly be more fun if he has something to do. And since apparently his preferred choice was currently resting up her magic, he'll settle for the company of his baby and his weapons. His mind wanders to what that skin would look like naked and pressed against the leather of his car. If her eyes would glow like they had earlier that night. Tamping the images down he sets his mind back to doing the job. No sense in getting himself all worked up with something he can't follow through on. Not yet anyway. Whistling to himself while he works, he loses himself in the monotony of the filling of buckshot and sharpening of knives.

A few hours passes and looking down at his watch, he thinks now would be a good time for him to get a few hours sleep before the other two wake up and start getting down to business. Looking towards the house, he sees the porch light on, the rest of the house wrapped snugly in shadows. Satisfying himself that all was well he turns the interior light off and lays out on the front seat, pulling his jacket over himself as a makeshift blanket and closing his eyes. He drifts off to sleep, visions of purple eyes and milky skin following him into oblivion.

He wakes up to a rapping on the window above his head. Tipping his head back, he squints against the late morning glare and sees Bobby looking down at him from outside. He hears a muffled, "Get up. Breakfast will be ready in a bit," before Bobby turns and heads back to the house. Closing his eyes again, he lays there and assesses that yes, this is morning, and yes, he is awake. Groaning, he presses his head against the leather and wonders if he can get away with pretending he didn't hear the wake up call. Groggily rethinking that, he gets up. He doesn't want to give Bobby incentive to take any of his frustration out on him. Sitting up slowly, he opens the driver's door and takes a deep breath of morning air. A shower would be a good idea, good way to wake him up and make sure he didn't smell ripe. Shutting the door behind him, he makes his way towards food and hopefully coffee.

Walking in the open door and taking a whiff, he silently thanks god that there's a pot of coffee brewing. Entering the kitchen he sees Bobby sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes. There's a larger plate with a massive stack in the middle of the table and two empty places set as well. Dean walks over to the counter and snags a mug out of the dish rack, pouring himself a cup of liquid happiness before taking a place at the table and beginning to dig in. "Save some for Devon, she's in the shower," said around a mouthful of half eaten pancake, Bobby finishes chewing and sips from his cup.

Trying to stifle the urge to look towards the bathroom, Dean distracts himself with unscrewing the top of the syrup and pouring it over the heap on his plate. Stabbing a fork into the mass, he attacks the food with gusto, pleasantly surprised that Bobby turns out to actually be pretty good in the kitchen. "Do we have everything we need," he asks when the first serious pangs of hunger are satisfied.

"Devon has a few things she needs, but she says she can get them today," Bobby answers before using his fork to nudge the last few bites around the plate, sopping up the last of the syrup. They both look up as the bathroom door opens and Devon exits. Wearing faded dark blue denim jeans and a black t-shirt, Dean notices the t-shirt is dark enough that her hair blends with it and he almost can't tell where one ends and the other begins. He sees a few ends curling up around mid back level, which Dean approves. With her hair down it frames her face, adding a natural outline to the surprise that her eyes offer.

"Morning," is all Dean can manage as she seats herself and starts piling most of the leftover pancakes on her plate. He watches as she spreads butter over each one then smothers the entire pile in liquid amber. He can smell vanilla wafting over to him from her. He noticed it yesterday, but it's stronger today. He wonders if it's her shampoo or body wash.

"Hey." She smiles. "Sleep well?"

"She can be surprisingly comfortable."

"I'll bet." She says with a leer before cramming a forkful into her mouth.

"It is way too early for me to deal with this crap. Do me a favor and can it for now. I'm trying to digest." Bobby blurts out before getting up and going to refill his mug.

"Alright already. Don't get your panties in a knot. I have a call to make after I eat. Then we can set up our game plan for how exactly we're going to do this." Turning her attention back to her plate she mumbled a thank you to Bobby as he placed a coffee at her elbow.

"If the 'coven' doesn't have any abilities of its own, Dean and I can handle them. People go down a lot easier than spirits. It's the demon and the warlock I'm concerned with. You're the only one capable of handling the latter and we don't know when or if the demon will make an appearance."

"If I can get what I need from my source, then this shouldn't be too much of a problem. I have everything else here and I'm almost positive he can't match me in power. So I'm hoping for a walk in the park, but I'm preparing for Grenada."

Dean looks over at her. "If you're calling your source today to get something, can it be here in time for tonight?"

Taking a minute to properly chew and swallow before answering, she turns to him. "If they have it, yes." Not adding anything else, she continues to finish her meal. Smiling over at Bobby she smiles, "Thanks for the pancakes. They're awesome. It's one of the things I've missed since the last time I was here."

Twisting his lips into a smile, Bobby pats her on the head and carries his plate and cutlery over to the sink to clean them and place them in the dish rack to dry. Dean mops up the last of his fluffy goodness and drains his coffee. Joining Bobby at the sink he waits for him to move so he can do his own dishes before going out to bring in the weapons and rock salt he's prepared. Devon finishes her food and goes over to the sink, bumping Dean with her hip to get him to move over. Bobby puts an arm between them and gives Devon a look. "Don't you have a call to make?"

Rolling her eyes dramatically she nods and smirks. Heading back to the bathroom, she closes the door softly behind her. "She makes her calls in the bathroom?" Dean raises an eyebrow.

"For this person, yes." Bobby finishes Devon's dishes and pours himself another cup of coffee. Heading into the living room he calls back to Dean, "Bring your equipment in here. We'll get it all sorted out while we go over this thing."

Dean follows Bobby out of the kitchen. As he passes the bathroom he can hear Devon's voice carrying through the bathroom door. Instead of the normal pause that you'd expect to hear as the person on the other end of the phone talked, Dean can hear a male voice murmuring quietly from behind the door. He wonders what she's doing that she needs to have a conversation on speaker phone. He goes out to the car and grabs the equipment bag he'd filled last night. Bringing it back into the house, he sits on the end of the couch and begins to empty it out while laying it all neatly on the table in front of him. It was the newest thing in the house, the old one having been broken during the tussle with Meg/Sam last year. He grins at that memory. He still bugs Sam about his weeklong sex change. Dean turns his head sharply towards the bathroom door when the lulling voices coming from it rise in volume sharply and he can hear Devon's voice shaded in anger. He can almost make out the words now and he hears 'none …. business' from Devon and '…. tongue….insolent child' from the unknown male. Looking over at Bobby in question, he receives a long blink and a slow headshake before Bobby goes back to the page he was looking at.

Minutes later Devon comes out of the bathroom, red tingeing the tops of her cheeks and her eyes flashing. Dean fleetingly wonders if she was using some kind of magic that makes her more beautiful every time he sees her. There was something in the fist that her left hand had become. Muttering what Dean could only make out as curses and half finished death threats at the mystery man, she threw herself into the large and tacky recliner in the corner of the room. "Where are we with this," she snapped. Pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a slow, deep breath, she sighs. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap. Well, not at you anyway." Rolling her head on her shoulders she looks over to the two men holding themselves very still on the couch, as if afraid to draw her attention. A laugh forces its way out of her mouth. "Jesus guys, you look like you think I'll shoot. I'm fine, really. Just… a little pissed. Which is something I'll deal with later, when all this," waving her arm to take in the weapons, books and all else, "is over. So, let's get this show on the road."

Dean gestures to the arsenal he's laid out. "Which are you more comfortable with, shotgun or handgun?"

"I can handle both, but I think the handgun's a better option since I don't want both my hands full." Dean nods and hands her the Desert Eagle. She slides onto the floor beside him, slipping the item in her hand into her pocket. Grabbing the gun, she looks over it appreciatively before popping the clip out and checking it. Sliding it back into place she jacks a chamber into the round and makes sure the safety's on. "Jeez, Dean. Killer car, great ass and sweet weapons? You're a triple threat."

He chuckles as he hands her two extra clips. "A man has to have skills," he preens while blatantly ignoring Bobby's glare. "Think you'll want one of these as well," gesturing at the few knives he'd brought in.

"Thanks, but no. I have my own. I'll strap them up before we go."

"If you two are done flirting, we can get the particulars over with. Unless of course you'd rather wait another night so you can go out and continue this display in private." Bobby's voice practically dripped sarcasm. He groaned when Dean and Devon just looked at each other as though considering it.

Taking pity on him, Devon chuckled and reached over to pat his leg. "Alright Bobby, you're right. Let's get down to business." She had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing out loud at the look of utter relief on his face.

"Right," he says, "down to business."

Part 6

All hell was breaking loose. Well, at least that's how it seems from Dean's perspective. Bobby is in one corner of the massive center room with a dead man at his feet, a wounded woman mewling around herself in pain and another woman on his back that looks as though she's making a serious attempt to claw his face off. Dean is dealing with a guy and a girl trying to corner him. Another man was on the floor clutching his leg which had been the recipient of a point blank blast of buckshot. Dean had given up on the rock salt after the first few rounds. These people were fanatics and pain wasn't dissuading them. He rams the butt of the shotgun into the face of the man on his right, using the follow through to hit the woman in the stomach. She bends over immediately, breath forced out of her body and making shallow attempts to regain it. The man screams and clutches at his now broken nose, fury blending with pain in the eyes glaring at Dean over the hands covering his injury. Screeching with rage the man runs at him, trying to push him into the wall. Dean mentally shakes his head as he sidesteps and smacks the guys head against the concrete. Looking over at the woman who was still bent over but taking deeper breaths, Dean steps up beside her and raps her hard on the back of the head with the shotgun. Down she goes. Good, now he can concentrate on what matters. The warlock.

Devon's near the middle of the room surrounded by a ring of purple fire. The warlock is sweating profusely and clutching a bowling ball sized stone that pulses a sickly orange red. Sparks are flying from it sporadically and Dean's surprised the guys clothes don't catch fire. A ball of fire lifts itself from the ring surrounding Devon and hurls itself at the warlock. It hits him in the chest and lifts him off the floor, sending him crashing into the wall behind him. He gets up shakily and gazes at her with a look filled with malevolence and hate. Lifting the stone above his head he screams something unintelligible and braces himself. A bolt of lightening licks its way out of the stone and straight to Devon. Dean can see that the fire consumes most of it, but some of it still manages to break through and course over her body. She cries out in pain and throws her hands out, diverting some of the bolt into the floor. The cement around her is charred and cracked, some of it looking as though it's melted and reset again in strange waves. Reaching into her pocket she pulls out a small black shard that fits comfortably in her fist. Expelling the rest of the lightening energy she slowly moves towards him, the circle of fire moving with her.

Dean's so wrapped up in the scene he doesn't notice when Bobby steps up to join him. "What the hell are you doing Dean? Shoot the bastard!" Bobby screams through the sound of a tempest that is getting louder as the two forces are slowly drawing together. Dean lifts the shotgun to his shoulder and moves to the side to get a better shot without risking hitting Devon. Before he can pull the trigger, he's lifted on an invisible current of air and thrown against the cement wall. Bobby almost falls on top of him as he's tossed aside as well. Groaning in suppressed pain, he gets up and moves around until he's directly behind Devon. The man can't reach him from here without going through Devon, and he doesn't seem to be able to do that. Walking up as close to the flames as he dares he follows her closer to the warlock.

Another bolt of lightening emits from the stone, but this time Devon makes a motion with her right hand and it's sucked up towards the broken windows along the far wall. The warlock growls in frustration at her. She stops five feet from him. "End it now, or I'll end it for you, you son of a bitch."

"You're nothing compared to what I can be. You're a child playing at things you can't possibly comprehend. I've seen the beginning of the universe and I know what's waiting when it ends. I can make time blink and stutter and flow like lava. This power is mine. Their souls are mine. I look forward to adding yours to it before I kill you. You'll make a fine addition to my collection." The man seems to be on the edge of lunacy as he rants at her.

Devon shifts the shard into her right hand and attempts to move towards him. She stops as soon as she starts, coming into contact with an invisible force. She screams her frustration and the ring of fire flares higher as if sympathizing with her. "Devon, what do you need," Dean asks her as he keeps himself out of the warlock's line of sight.

He can hear a whisper in his ear, even though she's still staring holes at their antagonist. "I need you to distract him. I can't get any closer if he's focusing the barrier on me." Dean nods to himself and steps out to the left, moving until the guy has to shift his head to switch his gaze between the both of them.

"Hey Voldy, don't you know you're not wearing the right shoes for bowling night? I mean, come on, they can kick you out of the league for that." Dean rests the shotgun on his shoulder, muzzle pointing at the ceiling.

Blinking rapidly at him, the warlock snarls, "What the hell are you talking about, you miserable little peon? You should be groveling on your knees for mercy, just like the rest of the world will soon be."

Looking over at him and smiling to further antagonize the guy, Devon addresses Dean. "Dean, you're wasting your time. He's a bad guy; bad guys don't have a sense of humor. And judging from this guy," here she rakes him with her eyes, "they don't have much of a fashion sense either." She keeps herself still, not moving further and trying to force him to shift his attention to Dean.

"Buddy, seriously. World domination?" He snorts in contempt at the thought. "Everybody picks that. Couldn't you at least have the class to come up with something original?" Dean laces his voice with scorn. Devon giggles softly. Dean watches their target turn his attention to Devon. Without thinking he lowers the shotgun and fires two rounds before he feels like he's being hit by the hammer of God. During the diversion Dean's given her, Devon rushes at her prey and slams the shard in her fist into the stone that's being turned towards her. There's a sound like every person on the planet screaming at the same time and a huge wave of broken magic washes out of the now shattered stone. Then everything goes dark.

Sitting up slowly, Dean fishes in his pocket for his Zippo. Before he can find it he hears a rasping sound and looks over to see Bobby standing against the wall, his lighter held up and casting his features into relief. His eyes look too large for his face. Bobby makes his way over to Dean, bringing the small orb of light with him. "Where is she?" Bobby looks franticly around Dean.

Grabbing his own lighter and flicking it open and lighting it against his thigh he holds it up and begins to pick his way towards where he'd last seen her. "Devon?" He calls out for her, hoping to God that she didn't get obliterated by the blast. He hears an answering groan and hurries towards it, Bobby trailing close behind him.

"Oh Gods, I think I'm dead."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dean responds with, "I doubt it. I don't think you'd bitch as much if you were." He finds her laying flat on her back with her hand held against her head.

"You make a good point. But I'm not bitching. I'm remarking on the pain I feel due to being at ground zero of a blood magic backlash." Squinting up at him she winces at the pain the light causes her eyes. "Remind me not to do that again."

Bobby kneels beside her and begins running his hands over her arms and legs. "Anything broken? What in the name of hell happened?" He sounds like he can't decide whether he wants to strangle her or hug her. Dean can empathize.

"I broke it."

"I see that," comes the abrupt reply. "I'm asking how."

"Oh. Yeah. I used a shard of a Blade of Tainting. Two incompatible magics that would cancel each other out. Looks like it took along the evil messiah and his gang too." She attempts a shrug and winces. "Not that it surprises me. They were all tied to the stone. They all got broken when it did." Turning her gaze to Dean, she grins. "And this, children, is why we don't play with toys we don't understand."

Smiling down at her, he reaches a hand underneath her from one side while Bobby echoes him on the other to help her up. "Well, that went about as well as I could have hoped."

Devon laughs, which quickly turns into a hiss of pain. "I think I'll refrain from doing that for the next hour. So that means you have to shut up Dean. You're killing me. And why don't we do something about the damn lights." Closing her eyes and muttering something Dean can only describe as melodic, the guttered candles flare to life. They settle back into a nice healthy glow, flickering against the wind that the broken windows let in.

"That is a nifty trick," Dean closes his lighter and tucks it back in his pocket.

"Sorry I can't teach it to you. You need some semblance of skill for it, of which you have none." She smirks up at him and moves to get up. Bobby and Dean both grab an arm each and gently help her to her feet. "I'm fine boys, just a little wobbly. I'll be back to peak performance in no time. I think I need a really big drink though. Like, really big." She peers at the ground where all that's left of the shard and the stone is a strewn pile of ash. Beaming up at them she quips, "Look ma, no clean up required."

"Go gather up what you brought, we need to get out of here before someone decides to check out the light show." Bobby keeps a hand at Devon's back more in reassurance than support. Devon leans over and kisses him on the cheek while wrapping an arm over his shoulder.

Dean makes his rounds of the place, picking up his dropped shotgun and two of Devon's discarded knives. There isn't a sign of any of the coven members or their leader. He can't really say he's sorry. He's more relieved he doesn't have to dig any graves tonight. "I think this about does it. So, who's buying?" He saunters towards the exit and enjoys the sound of Bobby's grumbling about insolent smart asses and Devon's laughter.

Part 7

The trio sits in contented relaxation and satisfaction of a job well done. Devon is sprawled out on the couch, feet periodically prodding Dean's leg. Dean sits at the end of the couch with his left hand resting on one of Devon's calves. Bobby's settled in the horrendous recliner and pretending to ignore them. All three have a beer and all three intend to keep it that way. "You staying for a while?" Bobby directs at Devon, who turns lazily to gaze at him.

"Meh. I think I might head out tomorrow. Got an email about something that's piqued my interest in Arizona," she punctuates her sentence with an extra prod on Dean's thigh. "I'm always glad when you call me in Bobby. I wind up having so-o-o much fun." Frowning slightly she lifts her gaze to the ceiling, eyes playing over the re-done Devil's Trap. "I'm a little concerned about the demon though. I know there was one playing in this, I just don't know who. I'm also wondering why it never appeared. I mean, that was a lot of souls it just lost. It can't be too happy right now." Sighing, she closes her eyes. "Whatever," she waves her hand, "I'll deal with that crap later. Right now I'm just happy I'm not getting tossed around… and the beer is definitely helping."

"You and your alcohol," Dean teases. "Whatever happened to good company and taking pride in your work?"

"That went out the window when my work decided to try to killing me at every possible opportunity. And who said I'm complaining about the company?" She says grinning coyly, nudging him again.

Dean smiles and moves his hand slightly higher up her leg. He flicks his eyes over to Bobby, who snorts and takes a long pull of his drink. "I know, Bobby's such a riot to be around. I can see why you like him so much."

She moves her foot so it rests on top of his leg. "Yup. Bobby's a regular barrel of monkeys. He's usually more relaxed though, especially when he doesn't have to deal with upstart young whippersnappers like you."

"Me?" Dean responds in feigned amazement. "I'm not the one running around with a bottomless stomach and flying fireballs."

"Hey, those fireballs come in handy. And can I help it if I have a high metabolism? I'm a growing girl." She widens her eyes and assumes a wounded expression.

"You keep it up and parts of you are going to 'grow' too big for you to fit in my car."

Gaping at him, she does nothing for all of two seconds before roaring in mock outrage and pouncing on him. "That's it! No mercy!" Pinning his legs to the couch she begins her attack, digging her fingers into his sides and tickling him.

"Oh god no! Please… stop… not fair!" Dean flails and tries to dislodge the violet-eyed menace on his lap, but she seems to have acquired Velcro powers and will not be moved. He tries to respond in kind, but she shifts her body around and continues her assault until he's forced to focus his attention on just trying to breathe through the laughter. "Bobby! Get her off… she's killing me!"

"Alright you two. I'm going to clean up and turn in. Since you both seem to have so much damn energy, I suggest you both go find a pub, or a nice bar brawl to work it off." Bobby rises from his seat and grabs his empty to bring to the kitchen.

Dean can think of a much better way to work off excess energy and from the gleam in her eyes, so can Devon. Pushing herself off him, she stands and looks down. "You know, a drive sounds like a good idea. I could use some air. And we can use the chance to go over what you'd like me to put together for your car. I can cast it before I leave in the morning. I'll be all nice and rested up." She says the last with a faintly wicked smile.

"I'm game." Dean stands and begins to move towards the door. "Nothing better after a night of ass kicking than a nice long drive." Dean's mind fills with images of what he hopes is to come.

"Nothing wrong with a short drive either, but I think a nice long one is what I need tonight." She follows him outside down to the car. "Especially in this gorgeous creation." She runs a finger fondly over the car's body while she waits for Dean to reach over and unlock her door.

Dean revs the engine once as she slides her seatbelt over her body before peeling out of Bobby's yard. He doesn't have a clue as to where they're going, but he's hoping they get there soon. "Where to?"

She shrugs as she pops in Dean's The Wall. "Do we have to have a particular destination in mind?"

"No. Just thought you might have somewhere you'd want to go."

She smiles over at him, light glinting in her eyes. "I'm right where I want to be." She shifts in her seat so that she's facing him more than the front.

"This is a pretty good place to be." He looks over at her and winks. He's rewarded with a laugh.

"It is indeed. But," she adds looking into the backseat, "I think I have a better spot in mind." Turning back to him she quirks her lips into a half smile and leans against the door.

"That's the best suggestion I've heard all day." Dean sees an access road ahead and recalls it leading to an abandoned mining facility. "You ever do any sight-seeing while you've been out visiting Bobby?"

She looks at him questioningly. "No, why do you ask?"
"It just so happens there's a very interesting abandoned mine down at the end of that access road. Thought you might want to take a peek."

She smiles widely, "An abandoned mine, you say? I can't think of anything more interesting in the world. Let's go."

Turning the wheel clockwise, Dean maneuvers the car through the posts. They make their way down the road in comfortable silence, Goodbye Cruel World making way for Hey You. He can feel the anticipation of what's coming filling the car, making them neither tense nor anxious, just prepared. He pulls into a shaded area off from the main section of the mine lot. Putting the car in park he turns the engine off, but leaves the music playing. He unbuckles his seatbelt and stretches his arm along the back of the seat, turning to look at her. He watches as she undoes her seatbelt and turns to him. Neither speaks but Devon's the first to move. She glides over the seat towards him, one hand going to his head and the other bracing herself against the leather. Her lips find their way to his and they get their first taste of each other. They stay like that for a moment, lips pressing gently, soft skin brushing soft skin. Then Dean's moves his hand to the back of her hair and pushes her more solidly against him. It forces him to move out from behind the wheel enough for her to straddle him comfortably.

She runs fingers into the short bristles that cover the back of his head. He gets a handful of hair and wraps his other arm around her waist, tugging her towards him. Tongues pass over lips and twine together, each hungry for more of the other. She breaks the kiss and moves her mouth over his neck, gently biting the skin at the bend. Running her tongue up to his ear she lathes the lobe lightly before grasping it in her teeth and skimming them over it. He tightens his hold on her and closes his eyes, enjoying the almost electric tingles it causes down his side. Moving his hands to her shoulders he tugs her jacket off. She leans back enough to bring his eyes into focus and smirks. "Backseat?"

"Backseat." He shrugs his own jacket off as she clambers over the front seat and into the back, bending over to start tugging at the laces on her boots. He slithers over the seat and reaches for her, bringing her mouth to his. She tugs impatiently at his shirt and slips her hands under it, running her nails gently up his chest and baring his skin to the air. He leans back enough to pull the shirt off and let it drop from his fingers before he clamps his mouth back onto hers. Dean runs his hand under her shirt and up her back, fingers flicking at the clasp of her bra. They break the kiss again as she reaches down and lifts the shirt up over her head and tosses it onto the floor with his. He lets his eyes rove over the pale flesh that in the moonlight streaming through the windows seems to glow. He runs a finger along her collarbone and slowly down to the top of the bra, enjoying the shudder that travels quickly over her body. He can smell her scent filling the car, vanilla and honey and musk making his body pulse with the need to taste her, fill her. Cupping a hand over her breast and massaging it through the fabric, he moves back in and locks his lips to hers, trying to transmit his need to her without words. Her hand moving to the button of his pants tells him he's succeeded.

She licks his bottom lip before sucking it in, gently nibbling on it before releasing him and moving to his ear. "Pants. Off. Now." Devon flicks his button open and lowers his fly, the backs of her fingers barely grazing him. He sucks in a breath and lifts himself up to yank them off, forgetting that he hasn't taken his boots off first. He blinks for a minute before muttering a curse and reaching over to unlace them. He hears a laugh and glances up to see Devon kneeling over him. "Put your legs up on the seat, I'll do it."

Dean humors her and swivels himself around to place his feet up on the seat. She places them on her lap and begins to unlace his boots. Pulling them off, she drops them unceremoniously on the floor before moving her hands up his legs slowly. Grasping his jeans she tugs them down, moving her eyes over his body as it's revealed to her. She pushes the discarded pants off to the side before crawling over him, spreading his legs with her knees to fit herself between his thighs. Dropping her head she keeps her eyes locked on his as she lowers her mouth to his stomach. She licks along the line of his underwear, using her tongue to nudge them slightly lower. She nibbles the soft skin on his hip, watching him squirm as he struggles not to grab her and pull her to him. She's obviously enjoying herself and Dean certainly doesn't want her to stop.

Devon makes her way slowly up the man lying before her, alternating between tasting and nibbling him. His hands come up to rest on her hips as she arrives at his neck. She kisses the underside of his jaw, the stubble rasping against her mouth. She moves up to his lips and opens hers against them. His hands pull her body down to rest against him and she can feel him pressed against her thigh. Dean runs his hands over her ass and up her back, fiddling with her bra for a breath before undoing it. He slides the straps down her shoulders and over her hands. It stays pressed between them before she yanks it off to the floor, needing to feel as much of him on as much of her as possible. She realizes her pants were causing her the same problem. She raises herself up onto her knees stares down at Dean as he lays almost naked beneath her. "They should make calendars like this," she says appreciatively as her hands begin undoing the much unwanted jeans.

Dean stares up at the woman kneeling over him. He watches as the denim lowers to show the black panties hiding underneath. He watches as more of her flesh is revealed to him and he replies huskily, "Yes they should." He sits up and runs his hands from her waist up her chest, cupping his thumbs under her breasts. She arches back and sighs, her hair brushing against his skin. He rubs his chin over the tops of her breasts and nuzzles the center of her chest. Turning his head to the left he traces a path to her nipple, finding it and running his tongue over it before taking it into his mouth. Devon gasps and tightens her hold on his shoulders, bringing her head back up to watch with half-lidded eyes. She shifts in his lap and he can feel it stirring him. He runs a hand down to her ass and moves her more solidly against him. She tightens with the sensation of feeling him against her and rolls her hips for more.

He breathes raggedly against her dampened flesh and tries to keep from throwing her on her down and just taking what he wants so badly. He begins to twist himself around to bring her to lie on her back, wanting to see if the reality of the image he'd previously imagined is as good as the fantasy. She complies and stretches out beneath him on the dark upholstery, her hair mingling with the leather and her skin shining against the background of black she's on. Dean draws in a breath and decides the reality is better. Much, much better. He lowers his body against hers and licks at the hollow of her throat. She tilts her neck back for him almost in a form of supplication. He runs his hand down to play with the edge of her panties. A soft sigh escapes her lips and he wonders what other noises he can drag from her. His fingers creep past the elastic to cup her, feeling the heat she exudes. She presses herself against him and he moves his thumb through the short curls to press against the sensitive button he knows is nestled within. Circling it slowly yet firmly, he moves his mouth to hers in time to swallow the gasp that barely has time to leave her lips. His other hand snakes up to grab a handful of hair to hold, keeping her mouth in place on his as she starts thrusting against his palm. Sliding a finger into her he's pleasantly satisfied at the wet, throbbing heat that greets him. A cry leaves her throat and flows into his mouth to be consumed by his hunger of everything Devon.

She reaches down and tugs on the band of his boxer briefs. He draws his hand out and reaches down to remove them, staring into the impossible eyes that he can't imagine her without. He bites his lip to stifle the moan that she causes by running her hand over him, a long stroke to the base and back up which she ends by running her thumb over his tip. Dean yanks impatiently at the piece of black lace covering her and is surprised when he looks down to see the torn fabric in his hand. Devon laughs up at him, "I happened to really like that pair."

In a voice that's barely human he responds with, "I'll get you a new pair," before reaching down to rifle through the clothes to find the wallet in his jeans. Pulling out a condom which he tears into with his teeth, he quickly slides it on before lowering back to nestle between her thighs. Meeting her gaze as he begins to enter the core of her, he watches as her eyes flutter with the sensation of feeling him fill her. He grits his teeth as he tries not to just ram himself in, wanting to make this more than pleasurable for both of them. When he's in as far as he can get he stops, enjoying the tremors that are moving through her and into him. He bends his head to capture her mouth and kisses her roughly as he begins to pull himself out. He groans as she rotates her hips against him and he presses back into her before he's even half out. He's not sure which one of them produces the cry that dies quickly and he doesn't care. He reaches down and grasps her leg, pulling it up tighter against his body so he can increase the depth of his penetration. She wraps the other one around his waist and uses it as leverage to pull herself against him at the apex of his thrusts.

Dean increases his pace, burying his face into her shoulder as he concentrates on not giving in to the twinges beginning to emanate from the base of his spine. All he can smell is vanilla, honey and need. All he wants is for this to go on for as long as possible. He can hear small whimpers coming from her and he hisses in a breath as her nails make tracks across his back. He looks up to see her arm braced against the door, pushing herself against him more solidly. He begins to move into her harder, lust pulsing through him and the ache echoing through his body making his breath come in ragged gasps and grunts. He tastes her sweat on her skin and can feel how it makes their bodies glide across each other. She latches teeth into his neck Dean growls as the feeling jolts right through him.

Devon cries out against his neck and he can feel her tighten around him as she begins trembling under him, beating her hand on the door with each twitch. He thrusts into her twice more before joining her in release, holding himself above her and watching the flush fill her face and her mouth open wordlessly. Drained of all thought and strength he rests on top of her, panting into the heady scent of her hair. He feels her fingers trailing lightly over his back as they attempt to recuperate. "That was… awesome."

She laughs at that and he gasps as the movement causes her to clench around parts of him, which causes him to push against her, making her squirm again. "Oh God don't do that."

"No laughing then. I don't think I can take it right now." He breathes against her neck and relaxes again to lie there, contently entwined with her and not in the slightest bit interested in moving anytime soon. The sweat begins to cool on their bodies and he wonders if he's too heavy for her and goes shift off her.

"Don't. I'm fine just like this." She presses him back against her and he lets her. "I'm never going to be able to look at another Impala the same again."

He grins and rolls his head over to look at her. "I'm not going to be able to look at my backseat the same way."

She smiles and leans over to rub her chin against the top of his head. "I'm going to have to send Bobby a really nice hat for calling me in."

He chuckles and licks her shoulder. "You taste all sweaty."
She rolls her eyes. "Gee I wonder why? Not like you had anything to do with it."

"Wasn't me. Blame the car."

She swats his shoulder. Peering over it, she looks down at him with a look of chagrin. "Oops. I think I got a bit carried away. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not. Besides, you didn't hear me complaining." Dean looks down at her chest. "Besides, I think I left a mark or two myself."

Devon moves her head down to look. "Well, so you did. I guess I have something to show in the locker room now." She sticks her tongue out at him and begins to reach for her bra. "And you still owe me a pair of undies."

Dean laughs and reaches for his underwear and pants. "Yes I do. Best black lace panties credit can buy."

She twists her lips into a wry smile. "Damn straight mister. I'll tell Bobby to remind you." She bursts out laughing at the look of almost fear that crosses Dean's face. "Kidding, just kidding."
He pokes a finger into her chest. "You are pure evil. Don't even joke about that." He pulls his shirt over his head and begins shoving his feet into his boots.

"You tired?" She runs her fingers through her hair to put it back in a semblance of order.

"Not exactly, but you'll have to give me a bit to regroup the soldiers if you're looking for a repeat."

She grins at him. "Not what I had in mind but I certainly wouldn't turn it down. I was thinking we could go over what you want for the car, if you still want me to do it, that is."

"Keep my baby from having strange freaks putting their hands all over her? Of course."

"Good, now move over so I can use you as a pillow. I'm all worn out for some strange reason." She pushes him over on the seat and moves around until her head is comfortably in his lap. "So, here's what I was thinking…"

Epilogue

Dean woke up to the sound of coffee percolating softly from the kitchen. Blinking his eyes open, he looks around Bobby's living room. The empty bottles from last night have been removed and his shoes have been lined up at the door. Sitting up slowly, he winces at the twinge in his back. The memory of why it hurts makes a smile slowly spread across his face. Standing, he stretches his arms up to the ceiling, curling his toes into the carpet. He makes his way to the kitchen. Bobby's sitting at the table with a bowl of oatmeal. "Morning," he grunts.

"What? No eggs benedict?" Dean teases as he makes his way over to the coffee pot. He grins at the glare Bobby directs his way before ignoring him and continuing with his breakfast. "Where's Devon?"

"She caught a cab a couple hours ago. There's a note for you on the counter."

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Dean grabs the piece of paper and pulls out a chair.

"This isn't a hotel, wiseass." Bobby shovels another mouthful of oatmeal in, effectively ending the conversation.

Dean unfolds the letter and reads;

Hey. I didn't want to wake you. You looked tired, not that I blame you. I put the spells on your car. If anyone with any intention of theft touches your car, they're in for a lovely surprise. Nothing damaging, just discouraging. They'll suddenly find themselves on their asses with a strong urge to leave your car alone. I've also added some resistance charms. She shouldn't pick up any new scratches unless you drive her into a wall, so try not to do that. I'm glad I met you. It's been an interesting experience. And I can't tell you how much fun it was having someone to help me drive Bobby nuts. I got your number off Bobby before I left, just in case I run into something that's more up your ally than mine. If you ever get into any trouble that a little magic can help, give me a call. (604-290-3514) Say hi to your brother for me. I look forward to meeting him. He sounds like a good guy. Hope to see you soon,

Devon.

P.S.

You still owe me a new pair of underwear.

Dean grins as he finishes the letter. He hoped he did run into something he could call her for. He was definitely looking forward to seeing her again. He wondered what Sam would think of her. Well, time would tell.

End.