This is the first story in my series. It is the revamped version of the originally published story. This has all points of view and is much more detailed than before.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own or have the rights to anything of the Supernatural universe. I am just playing in their sandbox.
"How much longer, Sammy?" Dean asks from the passenger seat, wincing. He's holding his left arm against his chest. A white, or at least it used to be white, towel is pressed against his outer bicep with his right hand. The towel is quickly turning bright red.
"Relax, dude," Sam replies. "We're almost there. About two more miles." Sam has the black Impala going 80 miles per hour down some secluded back roads. Dean knows full well how much farther they need to drive. They've made this journey way too many times to count and Dean is pretty sure he could do it blindfolded. At the moment, however, this is the longest drive of his life. He's growing more and more impatient as he's losing more and more blood.
"You relax," Dean murmurs under his breath like a whiny child as he turns up the volume on the stereo as the beginning riff of 'Master of Puppets' fills the car.
They travel without talking for the last few miles until Sam takes a right into Singer Auto. After the bumpy trip up the dirt driveway, they park the Chevy and Sam and Dean are on their feet quickly. Sam grabs two duffles from the trunk and they head for the side door that leads to the kitchen. Sam pushes the door open but Dean rushes through first, gruffly shoving his much taller brother out of the way.
"Bobby!" Dean yells out into the first floor of the house. "Bobby! Where the hell are you?"
He sees Bobby come around the corner from the living room, beer in hand. "What the hell are you two doing here?" Bobby questioned, clearly surprised to see the brothers. "And at two a.m. And what happened to you?" He nods his head towards Dean's arm when he sees the bloody towel over it.
"Found that demon we were looking for." Dean explains quickly. "The bitch got me good before we could take care of her, though." He begins walking towards the living room. "We weren't too far from here and we're out of supplies, so surprise." He pulls the towel away from the wound and takes a look just has he rounds the corner. "Son of a bitch, I am bleeding like a bastard over here... whoa, uh."
It's then that Dean realizes Bobby wasn't alone. There are two young women sitting on Bobby's couch, one on each end. Observing them one at a time, he notices the one on the right has very long blond hair, bright blue eyes, lips to challenge Angelina's, and she's wearing an old, faded blue Red Sox t-shirt with well-worn jeans. Her tan riding boots are on the floor by the couch and she has her legs tucked under her as she leans onto the arm of the couch, a beer in her hand. Dean thinks she looks a little like Jo with her petite size and bleached hair. Then he looks to the left and takes in the second girl with dark, almost black hair just past her shoulders and chestnut brown eyes. The tan leather bomber jacket she's wearing looks well worn, but it suits her well. The Led Zeppelin t-shirt underneath is tight and black. The leather utility boots on her feet are functional and scuffed up with use. Her jeans are tighter and darker than the blond girl to the right. She's sitting at the edge of the couch, legs apart, feet on the floor. Her elbows are resting on her knees and her hands are wrapped around a beer bottle of her own. Both are looking up at him with startled expressions.
Even when bleeding profusely, Dean knows the importance of a good first impression, especially with women. He consciously turns on the charm as best he can at the moment. Despite his injury, he flashes his pearly whites and in the smoothest voice he can muster says, "Well… hello there ladies."
"Hey there, tough guy," the dark haired girl muses in a light tone with a quick little wink sent his way.
"Damn straight, tough guy," Dean smirks back at her.
"Oh yeah," the blonde says, her words dripping with sarcasm as she eyes the injury. "It looks like you really showed that demon."
Dean can hear Sam laugh under his breath from the doorway behind him. He snaps his focus around and eyes Sam hard, giving him an annoyed look with his egging on the rude girl, then faces the females on the couch again. "Yeah, well the evil bitch ain't breathing now," Dean responds somewhat defensively. "She just got in one good shot before I sent her ass back to the pit."
"Or rather, I sent her back," Sam adds with a smirk, arms now crossed over his chest and leaning into the doorway. He's more than amused already.
"Details, Sammy," Dean brushes aside the call out. "Now, can someone get me sown up before I bleed out in Bobby's living room? Rather not do it myself…."
"Since the last time you did it yourself you made it worse?"
"Shut it, Sam," Dean fires out, angry that he might be making him look bad in front of the two damn good looking girls on in the living room.
"Alright, I'll do it…." Sam starts to relent but gets interrupted.
Dean watches as the dark haired girl stands up from the couch and walks over to him. She lifts the towel, gets a good look, and makes a worried face. "Bobby, you still keep everything in the bathroom?" she calls to him without looking up from the slice in Dean's skin.
"Cabinet under the sink," the older man easily answers. "I stocked up recently so I think everything you need will be in there."
She looks over toward Bobby and nods with a smile to thank him. She then turns back to Dean. "Alright, Hot Shot. Head to the bathroom and I'll meet you in there. Gotta put you back together again before you pass out where you stand."
She smiles warmly at him with her straight white teeth and calm, bright eyes. There's a feeling of calm and kindness he's getting from her instantly. He wrinkles his brow just a bit before smiling back, watching as she turns away to gather what she needs. He stands there for just a split second, nods once to himself, and then heads for the bathroom.
"Wow. Now that is a clean slice," the dark haired girl awes while inspecting Dean's arm. "And deep, too. This chick knew what she was doing, huh?"
Dean's sitting on the closed toilet and the girl is sitting Indian-style on the floor with an array of supplies around her, including a small black bag she retrieved from one of the upstairs bedrooms. Dean's grey long sleeve Henley is sitting in the corner, the arm slashed and covered in blood. "She was quick, I'll give her that," he admits.
"And I think your wardrobe just got a little smaller, too," she nods at his shirt. "It was a blade I'm assuming?"
"You assume right," Dean confirms, his face twisting slightly in pain as she inspects and pokes around his cut.
"Good. That means I don't have to go fishing for any broken glass or anything. Here, take this." She hands him the beer she was holding and two white pills from a prescription bottle she took out of the little black bag. "You're definitely going to want to take the edge off. Does Vicodin make you sick?"
"Nah, not that I know of… then again, I haven't had any of these since I was in high school." Dean looks down at the pills, jostling them slightly in his hand as the memory comes back to him. "Hah, I got pretty messed up that night. We were in Hoboken for about a month. I went drinking with some kids from whatever school I was going to at the time. We went to this old factory I remember." He laughs slightly to himself again. "I was supposed to be watching Sam that night but I snuck out instead. This guy, Tommy, his mom just got her wisdom teeth out so he stole...ugh!" He looks down to see the girl pouring something clear from a bottle onto the cut. Rubbing alcohol, he thinks. It smells like shit and burns like hell.
"Sorry, I ran out of saline and need to clean this out," she apologizes as she is using gauze to clean up his arm. "I should've warned you, right? That woulda been nice of me?"
"Yeah. I mean, no. No, it's fine," he stutters out awkwardly, surprising himself with the sudden nervousness he feels. He never feels nervousness in front of women. Ever.
Dean then sits in silence as he tries to play off the pain, though he knows the expression on his face is betraying him. He immediately pops the pills in his mouth and chases them down with a big swig from his beer. As he pulls the bottle away from his mouth he feels something slick, almost slimy on his lips. After licking them, he realizes it tastes weird too. Sweet, almost like frosting, but not quite.
"What the hell is that?"
"What's what?" the girl wonders as she looks up from under her side swept bangs, her eyes looking brighter as the light from the bathroom vanity hits them, almost hazel. Dean's thinking he may have to turn up the charm on this one. She is his type after all. Dark hair, dark eyes, a nice round ass, tight body with curves… all the requirements are there. It's then that Dean realizes he's been in his own head a little too long and he sees the girl looking expectantly up at him, eyebrows lifted and waiting for a response.
"The stuff that's on my beer? That's now all over my lips?"
"Oh, my lip gloss," she huffs a laugh. "That beer was mine before it became yours."
"You want it back?" Dean offers when she makes the comment.
"No, no," the girl waves him off. "I just forgot to wipe it off before I handed it over. It's a good color on you." She's smiling up at him. He notices that she has a little bit of an accent, though he's not sure where it's from. She doesn't pronounce all of her R's so it's got to be east coast somewhere. He glances down at her lips. They're coated lightly in gloss. They look full and look so inviting. Yes, he's in trouble, he knows it now.
"Thanks," Dean smiles back.
"So," he begins. "I have to say, you really look like you know what you're doing down there." After realizing the double entendre, he grimaces slightly but stands behind his words.
She just looks up at him with a slightly surprised face that lets him know she picked up on it before bursting out a good laugh, getting back to work. "And I have to say, a pervy streak. I like that in a man. And yeah, I do know what I am doing. I was pre-med for a year before I left school. It's come in quite handy in this line of work." She glances up at him. "Good thing I used to want to be a doctor, right?"
And Dean nods disappointingly in recognition of what he has here in front of him. "Ah, so you're hot and a bookworm. Great. Do me a favor and stay away from my brother." Dean rolls his eyes.
"Hey, I said I was pre-med but I never said I had stellar grades."
"Don't all doc-wannabes have good grades?"
"The ones that are meant to be doctors do," she giggles. "But… it was college. And college was fun. Really fucking fun. Sometimes too fun…"
"Well, now you're sounding more like my kinda chick," grins Dean as he tilts his beer toward her and then takes another long pull from it, licking his lips afterwards. This mystery girl's lip gloss is starting to taste pretty good. "Uh, I never really introduced myself, did I?"
"I'm Dean. The bigfoot in the other room is my brother, Sam."
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Dean," she says without looking away from her work while mid stitch. "I'm Lizzy. The sarcastic blondie in the other room is my best friend, Louise. But call her Lou. She'll seriously kick your ass if you call her Louise. She hates that name."
"Then I promise I won't."
There is a short silent pause while Lizzy works and thinks over what he's just told her when suddenly her eyes light up. "Oh, Sam and DeanWinchester?"
With pride, Dean smiles and answers, "That'd be us."
"Well, I'll be damned. You know, I was wondering if I was ever going to meet the two boys Bobby's always telling us about." She keeps talking as she returns to her work. "Damn, you guys are like sons to that guy. And, from what he's told us, you guys get yourselves into loads of shit! And deep shit, too. Looking at some of these scars you've got," her eyes roam over Dean's torso and he feels slightly self-conscious… but happy she's looking. "I'm surprised you're still fucking breathing!"
"Wow, trucker mouth. I like that in a chick," Dean flirts as he recalls their earlier conversation. "And yeah, you've got us pretty much pegged."
"Kill until you're killed?"
"I'm going out swinging, sweetheart," he quickly responds.
"Oh, you know, you two are the only reason Louie and I were able to figure out our last hunt. I remembered Bobby once telling us about how you guys came across a shapeshifter before. He told us about how you figured out what you were dealing with and how you offed it."
"Shifters, man," Dean shakes his head morosely and shivers with the jeebs.
"Don't I know it," Lizzy emphatically agrees. "I mean, usually we only deal with low level stuff, you know, ghosts and the likes. Bobby doesn't like us getting our hands too dirty still even though I'm pretty sure we could handle it."
"You let Bobby find all your hunts?"
"Most of them," she nods. "Part of the agreement we have with him. Anyways, when we went into that job we had no idea what we were about to deal with. We were totally taken off our game when we ran into that piece of shit. And that son of a bitch had the balls to shift into a copy of me. Can you believe that?"
"Uh, actually… yeah, I can," Dean answers, remembering the shifter that was torturing and killing women in Stanford while wearing his mug.
"Well, that asshole stole my identity. Pissed me off like nothing I've ever come across."
"Ow!" Dean jumps slightly and lets out a little yelp that he'd deny if anyone ever asked. Lizzy was getting a little too rough with her stitching as she was telling her story. He's pretty sure this girl is packing away a good amount of anger. He can see it in her under the very kind exterior and he most definitely knows how she feels. It takes an anger management case to know one.
"Shit, sorry about that," she apologizes instantly and resumes in a more gentle fashion. I just get so mad when I think about it. "I don't deal well when anyone fucks with my family, you know? I mean, Lou and I are just best friends but we lived our lives together since we were little. And after everything we've been though? We're sisters in everything but blood. She's my family and that monster piece of shit spent a half a day with her, lying to her and pretending to be me. Luckily my girl was quick to figure it out. She knew right away. After waiting for the right opportunity she stabbed that bitch right in the heart." Lizzy huffs her laugh of sheer awe. "Man, I would never fuck with that girl. She can be a beast."
"She's good to have in your corner then," Dean comments.
"That's true… but I guess you know all about the luxury of having someone close to you having your back, right?" She winks at him, knowing he'd understand.
"Yeah, I definitely do," he responds. Dean takes another sip of beer. "So you're a hunter?"
"Yes, sir. We've been doing it for about three years now. You two have been doing it since you were young, right?"
"Since we were kids."
"Must have been something bad to bring you into the fray so young." She says it not to pry but to let him know she understands.
"Must have been some awful stuff to drag you and your friend into this shitty world together too." He does understand.
"Well, if by shitty world you mean a world in which I get to be a super hero who kicks the crap out of evil and keeps innocent people safe, then yeah… I guess you're right."
Dean raises his eyebrows in shock. Her sunny outlook is surprising to him. "Touché. Guess I forget about the good side sometimes." After how insanely deep he and Sam have gotten themselves into the whole hunting world he has forgotten about the better things that have come with it, like how he's grown closer to Sam through hunting, that he has saved many people's lives many times, and that at least he isn't sitting behind a desk like a zombie working a nine-to-five like some chump. Then again, this girl has only been hunting for three years. She should talk to him again after another twenty or so, see how she feels then.
"Sounds like you do," Lizzy quickly responds. "If you focus on all the wrong things, you'll never get out of this life alive."
"Nobody gets out alive anyways," Dean reminds her.
"Fair enough," she nods. "But leaving time for fun makes hunting doable. Otherwise, you'll go totally insane."
They sit in silence for a bit as Lizzy finishes putting him back together again and Dean mulls over the words of wisdom that Lizzy just dealt out. Sometimes he needs that reminder.
It isn't too much longer before she's taping gauze over her handiwork.
"Alright, you are all set, Hot Shot," Lizzy explains as she stands up.
"Thank you, doctor," Dean feigns seriousness while smiling up at her. Surprisingly, his pain is minimal and he's feeling alright. She's good, he thinks to himself. Either that, or the Vicodin is good. Lizzy holds out a hand to help him back up. He grabs hold and stands.
"You're very welcome. I want you to change that gauze daily, keep it clean, and I prescribe several shots of whiskey… tonight, if possible. Do that and you'll be back into fighting form in no time."
"I can do that," Dean laughs quietly. Lizzy turns to leave the bathroom but something is making Dean curious. "Hey, can I ask you something?"
"Shoot," she responds with ease.
"Vicodin? You just have that stuff lying around?"
"Yeah. I stole a bunch of prescription pads from one of my professors before ditching school. I write out a prescription and one of us fills it locally. We go into small town, Mom and Pop drug stores during busier times so most likely the pharmacist won't notice that the doctor listed is complete bullshit. We hardly get questioned."
"Good scam," he responds with sheer awe in her.
"If that gets infected, let me know. I have antibiotics, too."
Dean nods his head again. "Impressive. Will do."
"Um, since we are asking questions… I have one for you."
"The tattoo," she points to his chest. "What's it mean?"
"Anti-possession. It protects from any demons wanting to wear my meat."
"Seriously?" Lizzy breaths out while running her fingers lightly over the dark black ink. Barely having gotten to know each other, Dean is caught off guard when she closed the space between them. He's not complaining in the least, just a little surprised. "Looks extremely new."
"It is. Got them last week."
"It's functional art," she admires, fingertips just dancing over his skin. "Damn, I love this. Does it hurt still?"
"I think my arm is currently doing a good job in distracting me from any other pain."
"I've never seen anything like this before."
"Well, Sam and I had been wearing these charms that Bobby gave us after Sam got his ass hijacked a few months ago. Sam was the one who thought of the idea of making it more permanent so we can't lose 'em."
"Very smart. He must be the brains of the operation," Lizzy laughs lightly, the sound getting better and better to Dean's ears. "You mind if I get a picture of this at some point? I would love to add this into my own work?"
"Your own work?"
"Oh yeah," Lizzy starts as she slips her left arm out of her jacket and pulls up the short sleeve to reveal the work she was talking about. "Before I started hunting, I had always wanted to get a sleeve done but was too chicken shit to do it. Plus I didn't have a clue as to what to get before recent years. Once Lou and I dove in head first, I figured life is short and went for it."
Dean holds her arm in his hands, turning it back and forth as he admires the work. Her arm from her shoulder to elbow was blanketed in symbols, dates, and other assorted Latin scripts. It was her hunting career in permanence on her skin.
"This is…" Dean begins, unsure of how to finish his sentence.
"Bad ass?" she lights up with a smile. "I know, you don't have to say it."
Dean laughs. "I like it. A lot, actually." He does. He also finds it pretty hot in all honesty. Tattoos are always sexy, that's a rule.
"Thank you. And I'm serious. I will need to get a picture before you leave." She bends down to pick up the fresh t-shirt of his that she had thrown in the corner when she first came into the bathroom. "Here, grabbed this from Sam."
She tosses him the new t-shirt and turns to the bathroom door. He pulls the shirt over his head and into place before looking at her with high hopes. "So doctor, wasn't it whiskey you were telling me to take earlier?"
Dean and Lizzy walk into the living room once he's patched up. Sam had taken Lizzy's seat next to Lou at the couch and Bobby is in his usual chair across from them. Everyone has a beer in their hand and are listening intently to the story Sam is telling.
"…the bar is practically empty," he explains, a slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "There are four other guys playing pool in the corner and one girl sitting at the bar so naturally Dean starts hitting on her. I take a seat at a table nearby just close enough to listen to him lay on the lame lines as usual and he…."
"Whoa!" Dean interrupts while taking offence. He remembers the night Sam is talking about and knows his pride is about to take a hit. Time for damage control. "Lame lines? You know that chick was as good as mine, Sammy. She was definitely feeling me. I didn't need any lame lines." Dean is glaring at Sam, trying to silently tell him he needs to lighten up on making fun of him in front of the girls.
"You're right, Dean. She was totally into you," Sam caustically responds, not looking to ease up even if Dean clearly wants him to. "That's why her drink ended up in your face, right?" Sam laughs along with the rest of the room.
"She was a prude…." Dean tries to excuse but Sam's hearing none of it.
"Dude, I know you used the Grant line. I heard you say it to her. And by the way, she was not drunk enough for that to work. Usually they need puke on their shoes for that one to work."
"Hold on, what the fuck is the Grant line?" interjects Lou from the couch.
"Yes, Dean. Share with the class your Grant line," adds Bobby knowingly. It's clear he's aware of this line already.
Lizzy is staring with a wide smile at Dean, waiting. Dean feels the red color creeping up his neck and onto his face. "It's not that good…"
"Come on, tough guy," Lizzy goads him on in a calm way. "What's the Grant line?"
Dean sighs heavily. In a defensive voice, he says, "I just asked if she wanted to make a quick fifty bucks." He shrugs and tries to play it off.
The living room erupts with laughter. When sober, the line really loses its gusto.
"In my defense, I thought she looked easy enough for it to work." Dean knows it's a terrible excuse but it's all he's got in the moment.
Lizzy pats Dean on the shoulder playfully and with plenty of fake sympathy. "So I guess that was you letting me off with just a warning back in the bathroom, huh?"
Her eyes are glowing again as she laughs and Dean now thinks his humiliation was worth it. He got her to look at him that way. He'll let Sam embarrass him more if he can get that again.
"Louie!" Lizzy yells over her shoulder as she heads for the kitchen, her arm motioning for her friend to follow as she keeps walking. "Whiskey shots! C'mon!"
"It's about time, bitch!" Lou shouts back as she jumps off the couch in excitement. "Boys? Care for a drink or seven?" She points around the room at the three men, asking them to join in.
"Don't have to ask me twice!" Dean gets excited at the idea of drinking with two hot chicks. He claps his hands together and rubs them with happiness. "Let's go, Sam. You can get a little drunk this one time, right?"
"Yeah, uh… alright," Sam answers while looking at Lou's expectant face. Clearly she wanted him to join in. He then looks to the man of the house. "You coming, Bobby?"
He thinks quickly. "Aw, what the hell, right? A couple won't kill me at this point in my life."