Author: Lily Zen
Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.
She was unbelievably tired, but too jacked up on caffeine to sleep. Macha was 'bedded down'—seriously, that's what she'd said—in Gran's room. If Hunter hung off of her small twin mattress, Macha would have touched the floor. She figured that the fae woman had to be at least six feet tall. She was enormous! Built like one of those Euro supermodels. Hunter scoffed in disgust and angrily stabbed the channel button on the television. It moved sluggishly forward from late night talk shows to infomercials to news programs.
Full of a jittery sort of energy, she stood up and walked into her room. Moving impossibly fast, Hunter stripped off her old clothes and pulled on a pair of tight jeans, red high heels, and a black sleeveless shirt that scooped low to show an enticing amount of cleavage. Knowing it would be cooler at night, she also slid on a short black leather coat.
It was just after one in the morning when she walked through the door of Keg's for the second time that day. Emma wouldn't be working anymore, but somebody else would be and they'd be just as willing to feed her a couple drinks before closing time.
The place was filled with regulars and tired second shifters. Donnie, the town drunk, was holding court on his usual bar stool, slamming back shots of cheap whiskey and beer. His sidekick, Ben, was sitting next to him with a collection of empty beer bottles in front of him and another in his hand. Between them lay an empty basket of jalapeno poppers. Donnie and Ben had been best friends since childhood and getting into trouble for just as long. They did everything together, shared everything, even Ben's wife, much to his surprise. Even that hadn't been enough to split up the duo. The woman had been kicked to the curb, sure, but not their friendship.
Hunter grinned as she saw them and greeted them with an enthusiastic whoop. "Hey, ya'll!" They stood up and there was a lot of hugging and back-thumping. Somebody pinched her ass, she didn't know who, but she knew they didn't mean anything by it. Just habit. When they released her, the grizzled pair called over the bartender, Vickie Connelly, who had graduated school a year or two before Hunter, and told her to pour shots. "And get this girl a drink, goddammit! Ain't never seen nobody look so parched before in my life!" Donnie added, thumping his fist on the bar.
She shook with laughter as Vickie leveled a stare at Donnie that would've cowed a lesser, more sober man in a heartbeat. She tugged her sandy blond hair into a ponytail, and her sleeveless tee revealed strong, tanned arms, probably from unloading liquor shipments. Then Vickie looked at Hunter with a slightly less glacial stare and asked, "Whatta ya want?"
"A double shot of top shelf tequila and a MGD."
"Tap or bottle?"
Vickie was prompt and she even came back with Donnie and Ben's shots. They said cheers and tossed them back, and Hunter took her beer with her further into the bar. She greeted a few people she knew from way back when, acquaintances and the like.
Hunter wasn't very good at self-analysis. At best, she was avoidant. Ruminating on past events and feelings was not an activity she enjoyed. Instead she sought to distract herself from those thoughts and let her dreams subconsciously work out her worries. It was a tactic that had always served her well in the past, like when her grandfather died, when her dad went missing, and when odd things would occur, like her uncanny good luck and persuasive abilities, and when she would wake up with the sense that something was happening that she just couldn't see.
Of course, Macha had explained all that as being a part of her fae heritage. "You're stronger than I thought you'd be," Macha had mused almost to herself, "You demonstrate an innate ability with earth and air elements. I think you would even be strong enough to have an Other form." Hunter had squelched down the niggling feeling of guilt she felt at being made a liar. Not a magic user, indeed.
Her wandering thoughts returned to her when she spotted Dean…whatever his real name was…at the end of the bar, chatting up a pretty waitress named Carrie. They had gone to high school, though Carrie had been a year behind her. She smiled to herself as she remembered the way Carrie had tried to steal Chris away. In vain, she might add. The only thing Chris had wanted from Carrie was a roll in the hay. Afterward, he'd told Hunter about it and complained of how it wasn't even worth the subterfuge. "She laid there like a mattress, all smiling and comfortable, and no matter what I did, it just wasn't working!" Hunter giggled allowed as she heard Chris' words in her head. At the time she'd been furious that he'd slept with Carrie, but upon his recounting of the horrible encounter, she'd decided that revenge could wait. Perhaps the bad sex had been punishment enough.
However, Hunter thought as she eyed Carrie—with her pretty blond hair pinned up on her head in big, looping curls, her tanned skin, and blue eyes, and huge tits straining the fabric of her shirt (Had they been that big in school? She couldn't remember…)—talking to Dean with the same look in her eyes that she used to give Chris throughout senior year, that it was high time Carrie got hers. She smiled widely, shrugged off her jacket, and swaggered over with a toothy smile.
"Hey, Dean, how's it going?" she purred, sliding into the stool on his other side. He looked over at her, blinked, and then a slow smile spread across his face too. He'd definitely been hitting the sauce, but he wasn't drunk yet, just a little slower than usual. Still, he couldn't mistake the look on Hunter's face—it was a woman who was interested.
"Hi, Hunter," he greeted her, "Going good. You?"
"Rough night," she replied, tipping back her head for a healthy swig of beer.
"Sorry to hear that. Have you met my friend Carrie?" he asked, not really seeing why he shouldn't include her in their conversation. After all, Carrie was a sure thing. Hunter was a wild card still.
Hunter peered around Dean at Carrie. She made an effort to pretend that she didn't recognize her, that she was searching her memory banks for the insignificant sliver Carrie occupied. Her head cocked to the side. Finally, it seemed that Carrie could take no more. She smiled, her puffy, pink-glossed lips stretching in a way that was comical to Hunter, and gently prompted, "We went to high school together."
"Ohhhh," Hunter crowed, exaggerating the moment her fake light bulb turned on, "You were that girl who always followed Chris around! Gosh, I remember now. I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you at first. Weren't you a brunette back then?"
Carrie's face colored and Hunter wondered idly just which remark had hit a nerve. Was it her initial forgetfulness? Or her pointed mention of Chris? Or the slight barb at Carrie's carpet not matching the drapes? Either way Hunter was satisfied. Trying to play off her embarrassment, Carrie laughed, though it was strained and said, "Well, you know, change is good. Blondes have more fun, after all."
Hunter shrugged her slender, white shoulders and let her smile turn the slightest bit more flirtatious, more for Dean's benefit than Carrie's. "I don't know, I think I have plenty of fun." She winked at Dean in a way that said just what kind of fun she preferred and laughed. Carrie giggled nervously and pressed herself closer to Dean, and that's how Hunter knew that she was feeling threatened.
Dean was grinning merrily, looking like a cross between the proverbial kid in a candy store and somebody watching a tennis match. He was waiting to see how Carrie would respond or if Hunter was going to hit another zinger over before she got the chance.
So because he was expectant, of course Hunter surprised him. "So Carrie, what've you been doing since graduation?" she asked, turning slightly to face her a little better, but in the process pressing her thigh up against his. Carrie looked as surprised as he felt. Then she smiled in a pleased sort of way. "Oh, I went to cosmetology school. Accredited and everything!"
She sounded simple and sweet, which Dean had known from the start, but when you compared it to Hunter's sharp wit and cynicism, it made Carrie seem stupid, which she wasn't. She was just a simple kind of person.
Hunter frowned and asked, "Then what the hell are you doing working here? No offense, honey, but this isn't a salon."
Carrie flushed again, and that time Dean jumped in to defend her, "Aw, c'mon, Hunter, now that was just mean and you know it." Hunter slashed him a look that said I-will-skin-you-alive. All traces of her honey-sweet flirtatiousness were gone. He chose to follow the advice that went hand in hand with that look and shut up, though he did have to bite his lower lip to keep from smiling.
While Dean and Hunter were involved in a staring contest, Carrie piped up. "It's no big deal, Dean. I needed extra money. I got two kids at home and wasn't quite making ends meet. You remember Cooper Townsend? Well, me and Cooper got married about two years after high school. We're divorced now, and I'm having a heck of a time getting child support out of him. That's why I got two jobs." She smiled widely.
Hunter felt like a jackass and tried not to show it. She smiled back.
Dean looked at her as though to say 'I told you so.'
Hunter, in response, drained the rest of her beer and called the bartender over for a refill and another double shot of Cabo Wabo. As she swallowed the tangy booze, she admitted to herself that she was in a pisser of a mood, and she wanted to make somebody else miserable too. Still, she was being mean to Carrie, and for no reason than an old grudge held over ancient history. Jesus, she was a bitch.
Carrie was asking Dean how he knew Hunter. Apparently she thought Dean was with Animal Control. He explained how he and his partner were researching the cougar killings. She was appropriately scared and awed. Hunter was sickened. 'It's a fucking cougar,' she thought to herself, 'Not a rabid lion.'
Finally, it seemed that Carrie needed to go do her job and Hunter ordered another double. Dean slanted a look at her and then asked seriously, "Okay, what's your deal? Not that I mind being the chew toy in your bitch-fight, but now you've given up even pretending to be interested in me."
"Ego hurting?" she shot back scathingly, slamming her MGD.
Dean looked thoughtful. "Just a little," he admitted and then added, "Seriously, what's wrong?"
She looked at him very carefully and then leaned in dramatically to whisper to him, "My long-lost mother showed up tonight. She's a fairy. Literally." Hunter pulled back, met Dean's questioning eyes and nodded in all seriousness. They both ordered shots that time.
"Wow," he said after they'd both set down their empty shot glasses, "What a mind-fuck."
"You're telling me," Hunter responded dryly, "Oh, and apparently I'm very magically well-endowed for a half-breed." She snorted derisively through her nose. "And she's going to stay with me for awhile to teach me how to use it."
"Fucked up? I know."
As their conversation hit a lull, Hunter lit a cigarette and concentrated on her MGD. She idly turned the bottle, smearing the condensation on the bar a little more, and picked at the label with her thumb nail. "If it makes you feel any better," Dean spoke up, startling her, "I think my dad may have made a deal with a demon to save my life."
"Ouch," she responded appropriately, wincing sympathetically, "That's shitty. Talk about a guilt trip, hey?"
"Yeah…" Hunter was feeling appropriately self-pitying and firmly walked herself over to Camp Distraction before she could really start wallowing in it. "So, Dean, what are you doing after bar close?"
He looked up from his drink with raised eyebrows, and said slowly, "Nothing. Why?"
She grinned, spun her shot glass in a circle around her finger. "You wanna fuck?"
Dean's jaw worked, clearly at a loss for words.
"That is what you came here for, right?"
When he finally said something is was, "Why? You don't even like me."
"Never said that. I don't know you well enough to like or dislike you, but I like the look of you and I think you know your way around a woman's body. I have an itch to find out if I'm right about that intimation." Hunter sipped her beer, eyeing Dean over the rim, waiting to find out what he would say.
It was a short walk from the bar to the motel where Dean had his temporary home, and they were making fast time. Then she realized that Sam would probably be asleep in the room and that they'd have to rent another room for the night, which Hunter wasn't too keen about. She couldn't take Dean back to her place 'cause her creepy fairy mom was there. Thinking fast, her hand shot out and tugged on Dean's arm.
He looked at her questioningly.
"This way," she said mischievously and led him down a side street. It was hardly lit and everyone's lights were out for the night.
"Where are we going?" Dean asked suspiciously, still following her, hanging back a step or two.
Hunter smiled gamely, chirping, "You'll see." They had to cut through somebody's backyard and hop a fence, but then they were located in a secluded children's playground. "This isn't the public entrance, of course, but it's faster than going all the way around the neighborhood and then coming back up."
"A playground?" Dean looked around with skeptical eyes, "What? You felt the urge for a little late-night swinging?"
"No, stupid. Sam's in the motel room, right?"
"There's a fairy at my house."
"Right…" Man, he was slow on the uptake.
"Which means we'd need to get another room, 'cause I don't fuck in back seats," Hunter stated like he should already know these things.
"Oh," Dean replied, "So we're gonna fuck in a park?"
"Great…" he drawled sarcastically and watched as Hunter flitted up onto the playground equipment.
"Oh, come on, Dean, don't take yourself so seriously!" she cried just before she disappeared into a tube slide. She shot out again a moment later, laughing and patting down her staticky hair. Then she saw Dean standing exactly where he'd been and she frowned a little. With a quick shrug, Hunter's jacket slipped off her shoulders, and she tossed it up onto a high, wide platform that was the launching point for the playground's biggest slide while her long legs ate up the ground between herself and the attractive guy she was intent on having that night.
Standing toe to toe, Hunter fisted Dean's jacket and smiled up at him. "Play with me," she said, though there was a look in her eyes and a heat in her tone that turned the innocent words into an invitation to do delightfully sinful things right there in the out of doors. He was drawn in by her and the simple scent of whatever she'd washed her hair with that day, head slowly lowering. She licked her lips and then when he was close enough she licked his too. Dean's inhalation was sharp, and he slanted his mouth across hers right after as if to make up for his surprise.
Dean's kisses were like nothing else Hunter had ever experienced. Sure, she'd kissed a lot of guys in her day, but most of the time they seemed to be completely unaware of how to elicit a response in a woman just from his mouth on hers. They figured it was enough to stick their tongue in and wiggle it around and more than once the rule 'more is better' had seemed to apply to their technique. Not Dean. Shit, Dean kissed like he'd spent years of his life getting a Ph.D. in the subject, varying pressure and intensity and using his tongue in ways that made her arms circle around his neck and cling. Then every once in awhile, he'd pull back for a breath and dive back in. Her knees were weak and her panties were damp.
Fuck. Hunter pulled back and shot him a grin. "Come on, Dean…Jesus Christ, what the fuck is your last name? It's not really that stupid 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid' shit, is it?" She made a face that made him laugh.
"Winchester," he finally told her.
She eyed him up and down and finally nodded succinctly. "It suits." Then she turned on her heel and took the small staircase up onto the playset. Dean found his gaze locked lasciviously onto her derriere the whole time, and he was very aware that just that little bit of kissing had him at half-chub.
So he did the only thing he really could at that point and followed.