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The Winchesters are celebrities in the hunting community, no doubt about it. They’ve been legends since Austell entered the scene, and that’s not changing any time soon, especially after they took down the literal, biblical God. The capital G, Adam and Eve making, world ending, almighty being. They’d killed him, hacked him up with a machete and probably fed him to their pet angel.
It’s things like that which make Austell glad that she lives in Mississippi, far, far away from Kansas. Not that she’s scared of the Winchesters——okay, maybe, a little——but she prefers to keep a healthy distance between herself and hunters that reliably end up in the eye of the storm at the end of the world. It’s just basic self-preservation, which is an odd thing to say when someone hunts monsters as an unpaid side gig. Go figure.
Speaking of unpaid side gigs: that’s what Austell is doing now. A coven of witches have taken up residence in the tiny town of Meadville, and have all but decimated the quiet peace of the town by incorporating fun things like human sacrifice and blood magic. It’s been great for the economy, but terrible for the continued existence of the townsfolk. So here Austell is, tagging along with her friend Jeanie, waiting for someone to make the call on when and how they’re taking the hex-flingers down.
It’s okay people watching--hunters can be an exceedingly odd bunch--but Austell is starting to get a little bored, and is more than ready to kick some witchy ass. The sooner they get going on this, the sooner she gets back to her cat and the essay she’s supposed to finish by Tuesday.
“Hey,” Jeanie says, accompanied by a instant tap on Austell’s shoulder. “I think they’re here.”
“They who?”
“The Winchesters.”
Austell registers the rumbling of an old engine about two seconds before it cuts off, and turns to see who has arrived. The second she sees the car there’s no doubt in her mind that it’s the Winchesters. A shiver runs down her spine as the driver’s door to the sleek, dark car opens, and——
“There’s no way,” Austell says. “That’s——he looks like someone’s dad.” Someone’s criminally hot dad, but still. He’s not splattered with blood with a haunted look in his eyes, not itching for a fight, not toting a bloodthirsty angel along on a leash. Jeanie has to be wrong, there’s no other way around it. “No fucking way is that Sam Winchester,” Austell mutters.
“That’s Dean,” Jeanie unhelpfully corrects. “Why do you look so scared?” She laughs. “He doesn’t bite.”
“Yeah yeah,” Austell scoffs, still disbelieving. “His angel does.” The angel should be scary at least, he’s a damn eldritch being, he fell from grace, and from all the stories Austell has heard it sounds like he’s practically a wild animal. Feral, with burnt wings and eyes that glow dark blue with corrupted grace. She’s always been told to steer clear of the angel, told he’ll drain her soul for power and leave her for dead, or feast on her flesh.
“What? No, he’s nice.” Jeanie gives Austell a look that supposes she thinks Austell might just be the slightest bit insane.” They all are.”
“You know them?” Austell asks. “How?”
More like “how did you get out alive?”
“I make a mean peach pie, Dean’s a fan.” Jeanie shrugs. “And he helped me with a siren once.”
“You made the man who stopped the apocalypse, became a demon, and took a couple stints in Hell a pie?”
“It was a thank you gift.” Jeanie sounds 100% too nonplussed by the situation for Austell’s liking. “He was very excited.” Then Jeanie smiles like she hasn’t got a care in the world and says “c’mon, let’s go say hi.”
”What?”
“He’s totally harmless,” Jeanie insists as she grabs Austell’s hand and starts tugging her over to a certified god killer. “Hey Dean!”
Then, upon hearing his name, Dean looks over, smiles——he doesn’t have pointed, bloodstained teeth, which is rather contrary to what Austell has been told——and changes his course to walk on over to Jeanie. He says her name, greets her with a smile, asks about her partner, and she asks about his——
Husband?
Dean Winchester is married? To a man?
The question makes him smile, and the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkle. He doesn’t look like a mass-murderer or blood-hungry demon, he just looks happy.
“Cas is great,” he says, and Austell thinks that learning Dean is married to his angel--because who is Cas if not the famed Castiel--is the mental equivalent of being slammed in the face with a sack of wet mice. “He stayed home for this one, but he’s…” Dean gets a wistful look in his face. “Awesome.”
Then he notices Austell, and she’s pretty sure she almost faints.
“Hi.” He holds out his hand to shake. “Dean Winchester.”
“Uh,” Austell says. Way to go, fucko. “I’m Austell.” Except it sounds more like Ah’m Austell because her accent always goes a little haywire when she’s stressed. She shakes his hand, it’s calloused. There’s no blood under his fingernails or anything, no scales on his skin or anything inhuman or demonic looking. It’s a little bit of a relief, a little bit of a disappointment.
He’s just a person, a hunter like her, and it’s oddly reassuring. Despite all the stories she’s heard, Dean Winchester doesn’t seem quite so scary anymore.
Sam, on the other hand. Well, Austell will just have to wait and see.