Chapter Text
Loneliness will always take its toll.
Please have exact change.
~*~
Dean felt the rush of the cool wind through the windows of the Impala like it was the first breath of fresh air he’d breathed in years. There was a weight that still lingered around the vicinity of his upper shoulders, and probably always would, but just for a moment it didn’t feel as heavy as usual. And he was more than happy to bask in that moment for as long as it lasted.
It had been a year since The Blowout; that horrible fight that still kinda rang in his ears between his steel enforced father and his stubborn rooted little brother. Words hadn’t seemed to matter so much as how they were being spat through the air, like a deadly game of catch the sharper blade, before it all ended in silence. Silence and separation.
A part of Dean had withered that day, but as always, his resolve to his family would never waver, regardless. On the other hand, nothing had really prepared him for what it was like on his own. Certainly not a single bit of his childhood, if it could still be called that. Everything in the Winchester family was about the dependency of one limb to another. A branch to a trunk, a cog to a motor, a constant, ever present person being there at your side and your back at all times. At least two always together, if not sometimes three.
But only sometimes.
Yet now? Not so symbiotic anymore. Dean missed the days, although he didn’t miss the fighting, truth be told. Funny the sort of things you could excuse for the sake of love over tolerance. His father had stuck around long enough to make sure Dean knew how wrong Sam was before even he picked another road. Dean’s going south? Good man, John’s heading north.
It was just as well.
On the other hand, what John Winchester probably didn’t know was that Dean knew Sam was doing just fine where he was. Happy, healthy, smart like a geek-boy should be, and well on his way to what he wanted. Dean had seen it with his own eyes and knew, and that was all he should ask for. He had no doubt that, if he ever really needed to call on him, Sam would be there. Bitchiness and girly complaining in tow, but he’d be there. And that was comforting enough that Dean was satisfied.
On the other hand, it still left him with an empty passenger seat, an empty back seat, and a single bed motel room with single serving shampoo and cheap coffee for no one else but him.
Bummer.
The freedom was pretty awesome though, and Dean liked being able to go wherever he wanted (as long as his dad’s coordinates were at the end of that destination of course) and be around whomever he wanted without a whining back seat driver. Them’s the perks, and Dean Winchester was not one to look a gifthorse in the mouth.
That is, until that lack of complaining was heavy, unending silence.
So what else could be done then, but to keep himself company the only way he knew how. Zeppelin, Metallica, Boston, Rush…all simmering with the accompanied vocals of Dean Winchester himself. Now that was some rad sound. Dean sang, and the night wasn’t so black nor was the emptiness of that seat so vacant anymore. Every road led somewhere, after all, and Dean had been to far too many corners of the country to be intimidated by its size. Hunting would never be the same again without family, but he still had his baby and his music.
Yet even then, deep in the back of his heart; that ever present loneliness was there too.
~*~
It was the middle of November that Dean was enjoying his drive away from the third trip that month, past Palo Alto, California. Not too warm, but not that cool either until Dean started making his way towards the higher elevated states around the Rockies. He was in fairly decent spirits, considering. Had bagged himself a banshee in Green River, Utah and left feeling pretty damn loved with a hefty plate of homemade raspberry bars for the road.
Home cooking was the most amazing thing in the history of ever, hands down, no contest.
He didn’t even have to share the little pie-tasting bastards, either.
So it was when his face wasn’t full of preserves, and he was happily singing along to every elongated syllable and punctuation of ‘Ramble On’, that the first drops of rain started to slap against the windshield. Dean made a face, never once missing a word before he cranked up the window and eyeballed the heavily dark clouds he was catching up to. The storm wasn’t just coming, it seemed, Dean was chasing it. An odd sort of defiance built up low in his gut at the thought and Dean felt his foot press down just a bit harder with his baby flying headlong into the storm.
There was no one in that seat beside him to say otherwise. And no storm in existence would ever beat down a Winchester. The music blared on.
After a few hours, however, and with road signs to Denver still reading at about fifty or so miles to go (whenever he could actually see them) Dean finally made the decision to stop for the night. It was pelting at him; loud and completely obstinate to his previous challenge as the rain became so intolerably thick that even the road was hard to see. It almost seemed like pure luck (though he’d claim skill if anyone had been there to ask) that he’d even been able to see the sign for the hotel, let alone stop there.
Half the neon lights in the ‘Knights Inn Denver’ were out or flickering out enough that it read as ‘Nigh In Dever’ and really, wasn’t that annoyingly ominous to a good night’s rest. But Dean would not be hampered to what he had coming to him, mother nature be damned. Nothing short of flooding the place was gonna stop him from chilling out and watching cartoons til he passed out that evening. And fuck it, even if it did flood he’d do that anyway (and holy shit was it raining) but hell be damned if she tried to take his car.
It was clockwork by now, like riding a bike or playing a song that he’d had choreographed since he was ten. Driver checks in, passenger takes the shit in. No passenger; but Dean made up for the rest himself. No big deal, Sam was happy, Sam was safe. Then into the room, out of the obnoxiously pouring rain with two duffels and a day’s worth of wear that just needed to be soaked off before all was well.
He knew it by heart and it was the same every. Single. Time. Not even thinking anymore about what was said nor to what ends so long as it ended there. And it did, just like the night before in some other state, and any other night as Dean hummed absently to himself through the bitter downpour. But the only difference this time, it seemed, was that sound.
The rain was so loud and heavy, Dean could feel it hammering his teeth as it hit his head and shoulders with everything the heavens had to give. It was far colder here than it had been in good ol Cali thanks to the Rockies, and Dean could see his breath smoke out before it was cut off by the millionth drop after drop from the sky. Despite all this, however, and that horrible sound as it pounded the streets, the gravel, the roof and the cars, still he heard it. Hunter skills alert enough that his adeptness at hearing things that were out of the ordinary were stronger than most others.
Dean squinted through the dark. The red of the barely functioning neon giving him just enough light to find the door to his room, thank god, but not much more than that. He forced himself back into motion, grabbing the duffels with his clothes, essentials, and the guns that needed a good scrubbing before marching his sopping ass right where it needed to be…
Until he heard it again.
Dean clenched his teeth, trying hard to wrack his brain as to exactly what it sounded like. Something familiar, obviously, but strangely foreign as well. Maybe something he knew from a long time ago, or had heard on television, or from Sam. In fact, probably from Sam, because Dean’s brain was telling him it was some kind of animal. Irritated with himself for even considering indulging his curiosity, Dean made a bee-line straight to his room, unlocked and unloaded what he had before turning right back around. It wasn’t like he could possibly get any wetter, and no one was there anymore to tell him he might get sick, or that he was just being an idiot, so out he went.
It didn’t take long, with Dean it never really did, before he found what he was looking for. The sound hadn’t really stopped, after all, and it was such a sad and desolate noise that it was no wonder some bigger creature hadn’t heard it first. Soaked completely down to his skin, Dean stood, still as a pillar at the edge of a crack between a dumpster and a wall, staring down at the most pathetic creature imaginable as it cried out wearily into the drenched night.
At first, Dean thought it was a rat, considering how small, thin and oily looking it was all huddled into itself like the world would come crashing down at any moment. But then it made that sound again and memories flooded back to Dean from both sight and sound of over ten years ago. Sam standing in the doorway, his shirt bunched up like a hammock as he dripped onto the already stained carpet, with the most earnest look on his chubby little face and a desperate plea for warmth from the bundle in his arms. The bundle that their father had allowed for that night and only that night after a decent scolding for ‘bein’ out in the rain and bringin’ in strays’. Sam had never been happier, and Dean had liked to see his brother smile.
This kitten was no different, aside from the fact that there was no stumpy little eight year old waiting to scoop it up to safety, nor was there a mama cat anywhere he could see to care for it. Just the elements for company…and Dean.
The decision was made before he’d even thought about it, Dean’s hands reaching in to snag the small, raggedy little hissing thing with the speed of a cat himself and tuck it harmlessly into the inside of his coat. The sound changed after that, but it made Dean smile as he felt the tiny creature put up the fight of its life against something that was obviously stronger than it was. He could respect that, he really could.
The door closed and locked behind him to room 34, and the storm raged on, leaving very little left for the contemplation of driving elsewhere.
~*~
Dean had apparently found himself a monster. A small, angry, wet and furry monster who was hell bent on massacring every inch of Dean it could get its claws on. Which, really, wasn’t much. The little beast was furious and terrified as Dean pulled it from his coat and set it down as gently as was possible on the bed. Which didn’t exactly last since the kitten was immediately to-arms, spitting a damn novel at him before it unceremoniously flopped to the floor.
Dean found he was more surprised and amused than concerned. Things had been so stupid boring lately, to the point that he couldn’t even remember the last person he’d had a decent conversation with. Something about that made him a bit sad, but after the kitten tried to hide itself behind a very thin table leg, it was as good a distraction as any.
At least it was holding still by then, despite the shivering Dean noted, but enough so for him to get a good look at it. Tiny thing; one of them mixed mutt cats with a mostly white body but random bits of black on the head and hindquarters and one black paw. Course, it was kinda hard to even see the white at all considering how dirty the poor little monster was. And what a monster, standing its ground admirably with a bright, blue eyed glare that might even scare away a werewolf. Dean was impressed.
“I dunno what you’re so pissed about, you were the one mewlin at me, y’know.” Dean mused, pulling his duffels from beside the door and situating himself. More clockwork, more repetition. Everything the same.
The bit of growling from the corner of the room made him grin though and it felt like something he hadn’t done in awhile. Funny, that.
“I aint gonna fight you, squirt. I’m not gonna eat ya, skin ya, strangle ya or anything of the sort. You just looked as wet as I was and this room’s big enough for the both of us. Alright?”
The cat spat at him again, fur rising through the murk on its back with that piercing glare that could cut through glass. Smart little shit, this feline.
“Ok, so maybe not big enough for the two of us? Should I have gotten you your own bed?” He laughed. “Geez, you’re as prissy as…” Dean trailed off, continuing the motions without even thinking about it anymore. Clothes for the night, what was clean at the top, dirty at the bottom…he cleared his throat.
“Anyway, whatever. You can stay over there for all I care. Just don’t claw my eyeballs or chew on my toes in the night and I won’t use your tail or paws for a keychain.”
The kitten didn’t answer, and Dean coulda sworn that it was contemplating the much larger, heavily armed sap of a hunter that had pulled it unwillingly into the room. Watch it be some kind of freaky shapeshifting kitten monster. That’d just be his luck, wouldn’t it?
Dean started humming without thinking about it, pulling the curtains to the outside world shut before yanking open the bag of firearms and pulling out what he knew needed some work. The sawed off was starting to gum up no matter how many times he cleaned it, might be time for a new one…the glock on the other hand…
But that kitten suddenly meowed at him, derailing his thoughts enough to make him jump as he realized it was right next to his feet. Silence filled the room, the two creatures staring down and up at the other cautiously for a breath of a moment before Dean huffed out a small laugh.
“Well that didn’t take long.” He smirked again, missing that feeling before crouching down and leaving the guns where they lay. The little beast was still glaring with those innocent little eyes and dirty little fuzz face, but Dean took a shot and reached a hand out toward it gently. Which of course earned him a hiss in return.
“You are one angry little snot, you know that? And I think you’re an angry little boy kitten too…but I’m not really sure we’re friendly enough to know for certain yet. I’m just gonna assume, if that’s ok with you.” Dean just smiled as he got nothing more than a headtilt in reply. “I’ll take that as an ok. Now, if you don’t mind, I got work to do so you go do what you need with that tongue of yours and I’ll make use of the indoor plumbing.”
He mock saluted the creature with two fingers before standing back up and glancing around the room. The guns could wait a little, they were a bit damp anyway. He needed a shower and he needed food, not particularly in that order, so it didn’t take him long to make a decision and pull the phonebook out of the desk drawer. Some poor sap was gonna hate him for coming out in that storm, but whatever. Dude’s gotta eat.
A few feet behind him, the little kitten seemed to want nothing more than to sit cautiously and watch everything Dean did. But always from a distance.
~*~
The shower was fantastic, and beat the hell outta getting pelted with freezing rain, that was for sure. Dean enjoyed every damn bit of it since there was no one he had to worry about saving hot water for or keep awake with his singing. All his, damnit, and he was gonna enjoy that.
Which was difficult, because these weren’t things he’d minded before…so he just sang instead and tried not to think about it.
Loud, boisterous, and completely on key, the words to ‘Highway to Hell’ echoed in the small, cramped space with its warped mirror and cracking tiles. Dean didn’t care, these were the kind of places he knew as home.
It was the accompaniment he wasn’t expecting though, and startled suddenly as he realized there was a yowling coming from somewhere to his left. Dean pulled at the curtain enough for him to glance down (cause there was really no where else to find anything living there) and find that raggedy little bag of fluff once again stalking him. Had he left the door open? Maybe…closed doors were a luxury to Winchesters.
“Well hey there little dude.” Dean laughed, glancing down at that eerily cautious face. “So much for the independence, huh? Kinda lonely out there, I know.” He leaned down, feeling the water drip down the front of him as it started to make a small puddle on the tiles just outside of the shower. He’d never had a stalker before, let alone a furry one.
The kitten didn’t move, standing his ground as if he was daring Dean to even attempt to reach for him at that distance.
“If you’re gonna bite me, you may as well just get it over with, cause I’m probably just about as stubborn as you are.”
The cat blinked slowly, almost casually, still guarded but somehow far less menacing than he’d seemed before. Dean could have sworn it was contemplating him at every glance, no matter what he seemed to do. Figured he’d end up snagging himself the smartest quadruped that side of the Rockies. Tiniest and dirtiest too.
With a sudden surge of motion, Dean reached forward and snatched the little furrball by the scruff, earning him an instant backlash of hissing and spitting that would have even made his father take pause. Ignoring the angry little spitfire, Dean pulled the kitten into the shower and did a quick scrub, or as quickly as he could while taking a few nicks and scrapes across his fingers for his troubles. There was nothing getting him out of Dean’s fingers by the way he was holding him at the back of the neck, but the little guy wasn’t gonna give up, hell or high water. And man was he making that fact plenty clear.
It wasn’t until Dean started singing again, somehow without even thinking about what he was doing, that the kitten started to relax. Even in the water, in the hands of what was clearly the enemy and in a great big world that was most certainly out to get him, that little angry cat went from head spinning, pea soup spitting possessed to a meek and dripping creature with nothing else it could do but take it.
Dean paused for a breath, just a bit longer than he needed to as he stood in surprise at the sopping thing, before continuing with the slow hum to the rhythm of ‘Shambala’. A kitten with an affinity for classic rock? How ironic and, dare he say it, kind of adorable was that? But at the same time, Dean couldn’t help but notice that once the fight was out of the little guy, he was a sad sight to see.
Both hands went into working out the dried blood down his back, gingerly getting the gunk and dirt off the face and get him as clean as the kitten was willing to allow. Didn’t look like the thing had ever had a bath in its life, and generally Dean knew that cats weren’t the kind to really even like water, but his little monster didn’t seem to be arguing anymore with the warmth and especially the tunes. One of the his ears was knicked and there was a cut across the baby’s left eye, but nothing looked infected and it didn’t look like his ears were filled with gunk or anything.
Dean didn’t know much when it came to the health of furry things, but Sam had annoyingly watched enough animal shows for him to catch the basics. The kitten had been angry, but not frothing crazy angry, so Dean could take his chances. That, and this poor little thing didn’t look like he’d been wearing ribbons and sleeping on cushions anytime in his life.
He turned off the water finally, dripping onto the floor as he pulled the curtain and snagged one of the rough, but dry towels that were folded over the toilet. The kitten remained in his hand, limp as a noodle aside from the shivering, and continued to watch Dean every chance he got. When Dean stopped humming, the cat meowed. Loudly. And really, who was he to argue with a kitten with some taste?
By the time he’d finished drying the little furrball off as much as he could, there was a knock suddenly on the motel door that was loud enough to send the kitten scampering behind the toilet for cover. Dean cursed, shaking himself off quickly before running out to his duffel and yanking on a pair of oversized sweats in order to at least answer it decently.
The poor delivery dude looked like he would never be paid enough to come out in that storm, and Dean was more than happy to overtip the guy for just that, but their conversation was short and that was all any human interaction was anymore. Yet Dean now had food, and that was what mattered. Some decent smelling Chinese at that, and he was eager to quickly close the door on the hellacious storm that was just itching to reach in.
Dean found himself so distracted at that point by the illustrious smell of food, he’d nearly forgotten about his wet little visitor until the creature made it very clear he wasn’t the only one who was hungry. The exceptionally loud and long meow at his feet alerted his attention as Dean glanced down with his mouth full of noodles to that smart and eager little face. Bright blue eyes followed the path of the food in his hands and Dean chuckled, setting it down to reach into the bag and pull out another, smaller box.
“You’re lucky I’m used to ordering for healthy-eating pretty princesses, little dude.” Dean snickered, opening the carton of steamed chicken and pouring about a third of it onto a napkin before heading to the floor. Licking its lips and trying desperately not to continue cleaning the crap out of its still-damp coat, the cat went to town almost immediately, practically inhaling whatever Dean had to give.
“Whoah there, easy, tiger. There’s more, don’t you go swallowing so much that you end up yacking in my shoes, cause that’ll end in a cold bath in the sink if you do.” But the kitten didn’t really seem to have much to say after that.
Dean watched for a moment, marveling at just how easily this little thing had wrapped him around its paw, before pulling out a chair and getting back to his noodles. And really, now he was talking to cats? And little, dirty, angry street ones at that? Sammy woulda had a field day with this.
“Hope that’s actually chicken I just gave you…” He mumbled, forking through his noodles to find some meat. “Cause that’d be kinda awkward if I was feeding you your uncle or something…”
~*~
Once it was actually dry, the monster was sorta cute. Still tiny, but now that he was a bit fluffier and clean he didn’t look so unhealthy anymore. Obviously scarred, some wounds still a bit fresh, but otherwise just as innocent as something you’d find in a pet store waiting for a home. Not that Dean planned on keeping the kid, but he wasn’t cruel enough to ignore it either. That storm would have drowned this little guy fairly quickly, so Dean was just doing his part and then it was someone else’s turn after.
Surprisingly, he hadn’t even touched the television that evening, but considering the look of the thing and the bent rabbit ears sticking out the back, he wasn’t sure whether or not it would have the power to reach through mother nature anyway. So whatever, the tv was a poor substitute for what sounds used to be there. At least the kitten kinda answered him back. Kinda.
Exhaustion was quickly creeping up on him anyway, so tv was a moot point. A hot shower and warm food in a full belly were swiftly giving him the food coma he needed for a good night’s sleep. Even with the storm still pelting the outside world, Dean had a roof over his head and heat and blankets to keep him dry. Couldn’t ask for much else…except for maybe…but he didn’t like to think about that kind of thing before bed.
The blankets were scratchy and reeked of bleach, but Dean wasn’t sure he even knew what the fancy stuff smelled like anyway. He wondered sometimes if he could even sleep on anything expensive, he was so used to cheap.
He absently hummed some Foreigner as he pulled off his socks, eyeballing the guns he hadn’t gotten around to cleaning and swearing it would be the first thing he did in the morning. His dad hadn’t gotten in touch with him in awhile and Dean didn’t really have much of a destination aside from perhaps checking around the local papers if he wanted. So there was no rush at least. He was getting pretty close to Denver, and was sure something would pop up if he knew how to look for it. And after a lifetime of that sorta thing, Dean most certainly did.
Thoughts derailed once again as a distressed little sound drifted up from the edge of the bed and Dean felt the slight pull of the blankets before a determined little monster clawed his way up the side. Dean huffed out a laugh, reaching a hand forward almost automatically towards the fuzzy devil where it was promptly sniffed, then nuzzled right alongside the entire right side of the thing. Which wasn’t much, actually, but the trust was clear.
“So we’ve come to this have we? Well don’t get too attached, fuzzy. I can’t take anything as fragile as you where I’m going. You’ve got a hell of a fight in you, I’ll give ya that, but attack cat you ain’t.” He wiggled his fingers and the kitten responded, nuzzling into each one and arching its little back as he pushed into Dean’s fingers for some kind of resistance. It was oddly calming, and amazingly distracting, this simple little thing. They’d never really had any pets before, despite how much he would have loved the fuck out of any kinda mutt that he’d been allowed. But their life just wasn’t made for it, and his dad was right, it wouldn’t have been fair to either party. Sam just never really understood that.
Dean shook his head as his eyes refocused before he realized he could hear the little creature purring. Loudly. The little stomach moving up and down quickly like it was hyperventilating or something, but vibrating at the same time. Weird friggen mutant thing.
“Ok butthead, I’m goin to sleep. That means that you go to sleep too. No yacking anywhere, no crapping anywhere except for that little carton over there I set up for you, and no sleeping on my face. Capiche?” Dean finished, giving the fluffy white neck a few extra scritches, which earned him a bat to the fingers for his effort, before twisting and flicking off the light.
All Dean could hear after that was the storm, the wind changing directions this way and that every few seconds and making everything smell like damp ozone in the cheaply kept motel. But then it became more than obvious that there was something foreign near him as that purring sound returned, and finally settled as a small warm lump next to his leg.
Dean wanted to laugh, but he smiled instead. It kept him from screaming, possibly even crying, and wondering what the hell he could possibly have done to earn the trust of this tiny, defenseless thing that had been kicked around by the universe itself just to find solace in a jerk like him. A son who’d disappointed his father, an older brother who’d driven away his younger. Just two lonely creatures taking comfort and warmth from the rain.
He fell asleep almost immediately after.
~*~
When light breached itself through the curtains, peeking into the room with a rare bit of sunshine that just hadn’t seemed possible the night before, Dean sat up to find the spot by his leg cold, and the kitten long gone.
~*~
Dean leafed through the newspaper on the lemon smelling diner table with the ease of someone who’d been doing it for years and knew exactly what they were looking for. He sipped his black coffee without really looking at it, tapping the knuckle of his pointer finger across the thin newsprint to an even, drumming beat. Eyes skimmed through the small print, checking for keywords and barely registering much else he was reading otherwise with clear intent. Yet somehow he was distracted at the same time.
He wasn’t sure exactly how the little guy had gotten out, seeing as the door had been locked and none of the windows were open in that room, but a thorough search had produced nothing. Somehow, the kitten had Houdini’d himself to freedom, so he guessed it was just as well. Dean just hoped he was right about how smart the fuzzball was and he’d waited til the rain had stopped.
Even if it had just been for a couple hours, and his fingers were still a bit sore from the scratches, the company had been nice.
The diner was small, cheap, and filled with the smell of overcooked bacon and coffee strong enough to knock a man sideways. Dean would take these places over the fancy shit any day. Who needs froo froo crap? This was the heart of America; its mom and pop, backwater pancake houses with tattooed ex-con cooks and plates of meat drowned in so much gravy the EMT’s were on speed dial.
The place wasn’t as empty as some others he’d been to. It had the benefit of being close to a major highway leading to a major city, so the business was obviously good. There were a couple of families just passing through, one or two couples, a single scattered here and there, and then him. One place setting, one cup of coffee, one side of a booth.
Dean sighed, letting the music play in his head as he went back to reading the thin paper right before his food came and gave him something else to distract himself. The waitress was cute, though a bit older than his usual game, but that didn’t stop him from turning up the charm. Her rosy cheeks went even rosier and she flashed him a rewarding smile that was well worth the effort as he thanked her for the meal. Another small conversation, but human interaction nevertheless. He’d take what he could get.
Dean let his eyes pass through the interior of the diner for a moment as he unwrapped the thin napkin around his silverware. Always judging a room, always measuring and counting and scoping out all the little things that normal people just didn’t think about. Such was a hunter’s life. Dean had his father to thank for all that. What caught his eye, however, was a man sitting on the complete opposite side of the room, thirty feet or so from where he himself sat, whose eyes kept drifting over in Dean’s direction.
Now that wasn’t such an odd thing. Dean attracted eyes quite often, especially in small towns where there were regulars, or from curious eyes who could tell just how much he wasn’t like the rest of them. Then there were batting eyelashes, and meaningful looks that were something else entirely, mostly from chicks, but there was the occasional nice looking guy that meandered his way. And who was he to argue with awesome taste? Regardless, eyes found him unless he didn’t want them to, but this place was public and Dean didn’t mind so much.
This guy though, seemed to be trying really hard not to look at him and was doing miserably. He was average looking, dressed in a button up blue shirt that looked like it had just been bought from the salvation army and didn’t fit all that well. Messy black hair spiked in random directions and he was pretty pale for a dude that looked like he lived on the street.
There was a bit of distance between them, so there was only so much Dean could really tell, but the guy seemed harmless. A bit meek, even. If he wanted to talk to Dean, that was up to him, otherwise, it wasn’t his problem. Good looking dude, though, he’d admit that, but sometimes distance made a difference.
Squaring himself back to a meal that was just itching to be ghost killing fuel, Dean dug in and promptly forgot all about the rest of the diner as he continued to hunt for anything even resembling a decent job nearby.
Biscuits and gravy were the most amazing thing in the history of ever, hands down, no contest.
~*~
“Hey Dad…naw, I’m alright, I just wanted to-…yeah, yeah I know Dad.”
Dean leaned his head back against the headrest of the Impala, licking his lips as his fingers gripped tightly to the phone.
“Yeah, that’s cool…no, no I took care of it. Yeah, the lady had some awesome-…what? Oh, yeah, course I did. Listen, I-…”
He reached his free hand up and gently ran a finger over a small hole appearing in the fabric of the roof above him. Gonna have to get that fixed soon.
“Salted and burned, Dad, c’mon, I know the drill. Well yeah, but-…well there’s something I found actually, so I wanted to ask…yeah, well sure, I just wanted to see if…yeah, no problem Dad, just let me know if you need me, ok? Yup…ok…yes, sir…bye.”
Dean hit the ‘end’ button on the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, hands moving to the wheel like that was the natural position they were meant to be. He sighed, staring straight ahead at the nearly empty parking lot and letting the world run through his head as he organized what he could in what was to come.
He’d found a decent hunt, though it really didn’t look to be anything more than a haunting, possibly even a poltergeist. Could be quick, could suck and take the week. Either way, it was something to do, and another notch on his ‘look what I can do on my own’ belt. His dad didn’t seem all that eager to get his help, wherever the hell he’d ended up, so the hunt was all Dean’s. Oh boy.
Whatever sunlight had been around that morning had been short-lived, and the world was now hazing back into the muck-like grey that seemed synonymous with the winter months… and rain. After the storm he’d witnessed the night before, Dean had been hoping whatever was there had blown over, but according to the locals this was all just the start of their shitty weather season. Which came right before the seriously shitty weather season that added the benefit of ice, hail and snow. Dean would make sure he was long gone by then, but it sucked out loud even now.
It was four in the afternoon, but it looked like it was around seven or eight. Not a single shadow being cast anywhere and the air around him hazed into that same grey that matched the churning black sky. Dean really liked mountains, always had despite his fonder memories lingering mainly around the flat state of Kansas. There was something about them that loomed mysteriously there like the earth itself had stuck up a barrier between him and whatever lay beyond. Like it was daring him to go past it, to check it out and see what kind of secrets it held.
There were too few mysteries left in the world to Hunters, so after awhile, he assumed they all just made up their own. Or maybe it was just him.
But whatever, he was distracting himself and it was time to get to work. Dean leaned over to the glove compartment and fished through his ID’s to find something suitable enough to get him into that haunted house. They were all his; any of his dad’s and Sam’s fake badges had been boxed up and shoved under the flares in the trunk. Wasn’t gonna use them anyway, so why worry about the clutter?
He was aiming for the possibility to even gain some trust in order to check out the surrounding area and cemeteries, especially if he was gonna have to go grave digging. (Ugh, in the rain too, what a charmed life)
It was funny, though, how none of his ID’s really seemed all that appropriate for this kinda thing.
~*~
By the time Dean got back to the door to room #34 that night, he was exhausted, wet, cold and way too hungry for words.
The day could have gone better, but it could have gone worse, too. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d finally managed to get himself some decent background information on the nearby spook. Enough to know what he needed anyway. It didn’t seem to be anything more than that, which was both agreeable and disappointing at the same time, but Dean would take what he could get.
Distractions were indeed the key, though that seemed to be all he sought out recently. He was sure there had to be some local bars or pubs or something nearby, but considering how off and on the downpour had been recently, Dean just didn’t want to deal with it. Everything you’ve seen about people having sex in the rain or just outta the rain with it being all hot and steamy was a crock of bullshit when that rain was practically freezing. And muddy, and just all around gross. It was like the myth of sex on a beach, which ended in little more than complications and sand. Sand friggen everywhere.
Fuck the weather, Dean needed food.
So it looked like it was take out again, but whatever, such was his life. He hummed absently to himself as Credence thrummed through his head and filtered all else to the wayside. He’d have loved to just sit in the car and crank it as high as it would go, but there was no way he was sleeping in the car when it was this wet and cold. Not if he didn’t have to anyway, no offense to his baby.
And with that thought, it was a locked door, stripped to the suit his mama gave him, and straight to the shower. The rain could go screw itself.
~*~
It wasn’t until Dean had dried himself off that he realized that someone was banging on his door.
He opened the door to the bathroom, glancing out apprehensively as a list went through his head quickly of where everything was located, just how bolted shut the door was, and whether or not he’d pissed anyone off that day. Nothing seemed to come to mind, and everything was exactly where he’d placed it, along with the door chain, so there were no warning bells going off or anything. But still…someone had obviously come a knockin.
“Who is it?” Dean called out, pulling a black t-shirt on over freshly damp skin.
“Your goddamn neighbor! That’s who!” Came the slow, muffled reply. And Dean paused as he suddenly got this odd Twilight Zone image of actually being somewhere where he could even possibly have a neighbor. What the hell?
“What?!” He called out, approaching the door and checking the peep hole. It looked like any other dude, but Dean was in a profession where that same kind of person could be detrimental to his healthcare benefits. The man looked pissed, but he wasn’t exactly trying to bang the door down, nor did he look armed. Dean weighed his options.
”I’m in room 33 man, and I’m telling ya, you need to get this little piece of shit off the sidewalk out here and out of my fucking life. Seriously, its louder than a goddamned siren and I’m tryin to get some fuckin sleep!”
Now Dean was more confused.
“Wait, take my what, where?”
”Your damned cat, asshole!” Was screamed back at him, and that whole Twilight Zone feeling returned full force.
Dean took a breath and held it, using those few seconds to seriously think about what he was going to do before the decision suddenly seemed to make itself and his hand reached for the lock. Traitorous heart, that kinda shit will get you killed.
The moment the door opened, something small came speeding in over his ankles and into the room, disappearing almost immediately around the corner of the bed. Dean blinked for a moment before turning back to the angry, loitering man. Who, really, didn’t look like he could actually do much more, considering the bloodshot eyes and the hollowed out expression. He reeked of unsafe chemicals.
“Do the world a goddamned favor and keep your fuckin pets in your fuckin place, man. Or car, or closet, I don’t even care. Just not in front of my door and window, yowlin like the world’s gonna burn, a’ight?” The man swayed, and Dean tried hard not to breathe in that smell as he did nothing more than raise an eyebrow at him.
“Sure dude, whatever you say.” There was no fight to be had here, so indulging was the easiest way out, even if it was patronizing indulgence.
“I’m fuckin serious! I hear that furrbag again and its gonna get skinned. Or I’m gonna call the SPCA and they’ll shoot the little fucknut and cut off its tail, so quit sharing your damn pests!”
Dean rolled his eyes. “You do realize the PCA part of that stands for the ‘prevention’ of cruelty, right?”
“What the shit ever man, get bent.” And with those stoic words the stoner shuffled back to his room and slammed the door.
Dean shuddered, shaking himself out of the moment before he closed the door and locked it again like that would somehow keep out the absurd. What a weird day. Which, not to mention…he turned around as a small, fluffy face peeked out halfway around the side of the covers and stared unblinkingly up at him. Eyes locking with his as if the little beast was waiting for the signal to get the hell outta dodge.
“Hey squirt…what the hell are you doing here again?” But it was jesting at best. Dean hadn’t expected the kitten to still be around considering how angry he’d been about being indoors the night before. Course, Dean had fed him, so it might just be a cry out for food, but whatever. Wasn’t like he was leaving until the job was done so may as well make the most of company.
Though he still had every right to be picky. Stoner #33 wasn’t getting anywhere near his door again.
But the kitten didn’t move, which was interesting since he was the one that shot in there this time instead of the other way around. Dean took a few steps forward and crouched down, wondering why he was trying so hard when he was the one providing the roof here.
“You gonna give me the cold shoulder after I saved you from Frat-dude? Gotta give me a bit more credit than that, y’know.” He smirked, folding his legs under him as he felt the wear of the day creak through his back and make him just want to curl up right where he was. God knew he could sleep anywhere
But the kitten seemed to come to some sort of decision at that point as it took some uneasy steps from around the bed, glared at Dean for a few seconds than inched slowly closer to him. Not once did he lose eye contact with him and it was almost eerie how smart the little fuzzball seemed to be.
Dean reached his hand out, which the kitten sniffed before nudging into it with his cheek, and that was all the permission needed. That strange little cat had found him again somehow, annoyed the hell out of his ‘neighbors’ in order to get in, and once again had Dean’s complete attention. It was actually a good thing at that point that his father was too far away to see this. What a sap of a son he’d become.
“I don’t wanna know your name and I ain’t giving you one, cause I’m not keeping ya, ok? Couple more days and I’m outta here, so don’t get attached. You’re just gonna have to get fed elsewhere after this, but for now you got me on loan. You’re lucky you’re clean, cause then it woulda been a no-deal.” Dean grinned as the little monster bat at his fingers, his little tail curling around him as he sat in front of Dean and seemed to want nothing more than to stare at him. Weird.
~*~
Dean fed the kitten once again, let it play with his fingers and hang out in his hotel room as the rain started up once again and made itself known by smell and sound. There was thunder this time, and lightning that made the lights flicker, but none of it seemed to bother his little friend.
Dean still couldn’t pick him up though, seeing as every time he tried, the kitten went ballistic and tried to take down the whole building with its hisses and claws. Dean was glad to see how much fight the little guy still had in him though, so he just didn’t push him.
All the while, he talked to the thing about random shit, namely about the hunt, and it was so much better than talking to nothing that Dean didn’t realize how much he was doing it. It was weird how often those big eyes just stared at him, and the kitten stayed pretty quiet most of the time unless Dean started humming or singing. Then it was at full attention, at one point earning the both of them a few bangs on the wall from the next room for the noise. Whatever, it was no worse than the rhythmic squeaking and moaning Dean had to listen to from his other wall, so the asshole could get over it.
By the time he was settled in bed, lights out except for the flashing illumination from outside, Dean was past exhausted and on his way to bone-friggen-tired. He closed his eyes and would have drifted off immediately if not for hunter instincts kicking in and alerting him that there was something pattering softly across the bed, before it curled up at his side and snuggled against his hip.
Dean had never really pegged himself as a cat-man. Dogs were obviously much manlier than ferocious little blue eyed kittens.
~*~
Once again, the little monster had disappeared in the morning, leaving nothing but a kitten shaped circle in the sheets at Dean’s side. There were no holes in the hotel room, no windows were open or even unlocked, and the door was still safely chained from the inside. He’d simply vanished.
~*~
By the third day in that rain soaked, ill begotten town just barely outside of Denver, Dean knew a lot about what he was getting into. The job was set, the opportunity was open and he’d been given permission to do whatever it took to get rid of his quarry by the reasonable people who were living with it. Not too many had stayed before, considering how few lasted in the house for very long, but the couple Dean had spoken to really did like the house and their neighbors and kinda wanted to stay there.
However, the ghost wasn’t too keen on that fact, and had proceeded to beat the tar outta the man of the house in a random series of supernatural drawing and quartering that would have sent anyone running for the hills. Dean had to hand it to the guy, he could certainly take a lickin, and it showed.
So they cleared out for him, and all Dean needed to do at that point was make sure that he was definitely dealing with who he thought he was. History had claimed rumors of the death of a young, teenage girl who’d been abused by her father since childhood before being murdered in her own house by an abusive boyfriend. Adding insult to injury, neither one of the bastards had ever been held accountable for a damn thing after her death, after claiming that she’d run away from home and never saw her again.
Both men had met their untimely demise about a year apart from one another, each after visits to the old house. Dean didn’t think much of either of them, but just in case, he’d make an extra special trip out to salt and burn the two of them if he had to as well. Just a little extra research to see if they’d been cremated or not would solve that. If so? May they burn in hell. If not? Dean would be happy to light the first match.
On the other hand, Dean wasn’t entirely sure where the son of a bitch had buried the body of the girl and he needed to scope out the house for that very reason. He had a decent idea that she was in the basement (how original), but didn’t want the homeowners around when he was poking his nose in. As much as he’d love to have two targets going in instead of one…well, that wasn’t really an option now, was it?
This was all the information that Dean knew. Which was a fair bit, and enough to get done with what he needed in order to finish a decent salt and burn. These people could get on with their lives, he could continue on to something else, whatever that may be, and everyone was happy. Even dead girl could move on, congrats, but Dean knew from experience that it was always the violent ones that didn’t really know they wanted to.
So what Dean didn’t know was what ended up screwing him. If his father had been there, someone would have had his back, even for the easy jobs which simply made them easier. If Sammy had been there, he’d have found the little bit of seemingly unimportant information from the history records that Dean hadn’t seen. If someone else had known he would be in the house, in danger despite it being broad daylight (or as daylight as you could call it, considering the black of the stormy sky), perhaps then the both of them would have found out the truth and gotten the hell out in time.
But neither dad, nor Sammy, or anyone else was there. Except for the second ghost, because that boyfriend really had been a sick bastard and killed not only his girlfriend, but her twin sister he’d been cheating with.
Two opposing ghosts in the same house who hated both each other and any man they came across. Teenagers were fuckin crazy when they were alive, let alone dead, powerful and angry. Dean barely had time to think about how fucked he was before he was suddenly launched through the air from the sudden and surprise visitor. He then proceeded to smash backwards into something that gave way almost immediately before there was white-hot pain, and then nothing.
~*~
Dean opened his eyes slowly, the world coming back to him in pieces before he was finally able to focus on a single spot above him that he could recognize. Then the realization of just how much everything hurt and how exactly he’d gotten to the point of hurting in the first place started to sink in.
Stupid friggen sisters, what the hell. None of those damn papers had mentioned the girl having a twin (or that he’d noticed), let alone that she had gone missing too. That was damn irresponsible reporting if you asked him.
What the hell had they done to him and where the hell was he?
Dean blinked warily, letting his head settle for a second before the panic suddenly started to rise. He was indoors, but not where he’d just been, and his heart practically stopped before he realized suddenly that he was in his own hotel room.
“What the…whoa!” Dean jumped, his head turning just as someone else's hand had reached towards him and he snatched it out of the air fully prepared to kick the crap out of whatever had followed him. Or kidnapped him…or, something. But then he froze, eyes locking with a wide and suddenly terrified looking pair of deep blues that confused him for all of five seconds before he finally blinked.
The man stilled instantly, his hand trembling in Dean’s grip as he realized that he was holding nothing more than a wet washcloth.
Dean wasn’t sure what to say, or do at that point, but moving as quickly as he had had certainly made things hurt a bit more than they had when he’d woken up. Which was seriously something he didn’t need. The man was sitting in the hotel chair that had been pulled up beside him, his messy, short black hair strewn in random directions in a mop over a pale face that looked far more tired than Dean felt. He was dressed in a simple blue button down and jeans that looked like they’d seen the underside of a tractor trailer, but that was pretty much all there was to him.
“How the…wait…you, I’ve seen you before, haven’t I.” It wasn’t a question, Dean’s memory was something he relied on a great deal in his profession. It was just placing the body with the face with the location. “Who the hell are you? And how the hell did I get back here?” He still hadn’t released the man’s hand, and the warm water from the cloth he was gripping was gently dripping down the side of his wrist.
But the man didn’t answer him, in fact, he seemed incapable of doing nothing more than stare at him with those wide, scared looking eyes as if he was expecting Dean to start punching him in the face at any moment. Dean swallowed, trying to ignore how uncomfortable he was in his own skin at the moment as he realized just how many cuts there were all over him.
If this dude had wanted to kill him, he probably would have done it by then, so that was a start at least. Not that Dean really trusted anybody (nobody but family…), but if he was going to get any idea as to what happened, diplomacy would apparently be necessary.
Slowly, Dean released his hold on the man’s wrist, who dropped the cloth as he pulled his arm away, and it landed with a dull splat on the bed. Dean took a slow breath, taking a look around.
“How’d you know this was my hotel?” He asked, keeping his voice steady, although there were warning signs in the making when someone knew where your base of operations was.
The man’s eyes finally moved, and he picked up Dean’s key card from the bedside table with the name of the hotel printed plainly across the top. He held it up as if that alone would be proof enough.
“How’d you know this was my room then?” Dean challenged, watching cautiously as he took into account the still open bag of weapons on the other side of the room. Not cool.
“I asked.” The man answered finally. His voice was thick and low, despite how skittish he looked, like it could be pretty commanding if it had any kind of meat behind it.
“Asked who?”
“The man who works here. I told him you were drunk so that he would tell me which room.”
“How sweet of him. How’d you get me here?”
“I carried you.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed skeptically. A little lightweight like him? No fuckin way, but he let that go for now.
“How’d you find me?”
“I…” Another hesitation. “I followed you.” He said, before his eyes drifted to the ugly flower pattern of the bedspread.
“Why?”
“Because of where you were going. That house is dangerous.”
Dean felt himself go still as he contemplated exactly what kind of situation he’d gotten himself into. As honest as the guy was (he hoped), there was something odd about him, almost new in a way, that was sending prickles down the back of his neck. Not to mention the weird déjà vu-ish familiarity that his instincts kept cycling through that told him this guy was familiar.
“How do you know about that? Are you a local?”
The man shook his head, still not looking at him as his dirty black hair shifted across his pale forehead. Dean took in the sight of a few scars around his ears and nose, and one obvious one that streaked across the left eye. It looked a bit more recent than the others.
“Someone told me, and I believed them. Going there alone was dangerous.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Dean grumbled, wincing as he felt the glass cuts down his back make themselves known. “You gonna tell me your name, or do I hafta make something up?”
That caught his attention, and those eyes locked with his again in a way that made Dean slightly uncomfortable at the scrutiny. Like he was being contemplated from the inside out without even knowing it.
“It’s not important, I’ll just go…” And he was on his feet, quick reflexes stunning Dean for a moment before he caught up to the conversation.
“Whoa! Hang on a sec there!” The man paused, staring down at him with that look again, and Dean couldn’t help but feel the slight pang of irritation that he kept getting looked at like he was some kind of a serial killer. He didn’t have to help him, but at the same time, he hadn’t had to follow him either. Something wasn’t adding up.
“No one goes to that much trouble for someone else unless there’s something in it for them.” Dean blurted out, and wasn’t that just the god’s honest truth. He eyeballed the cuts across his own arms and grimaced, irritated at himself for being as unprepared as he’d been. He looked up at the guy again before motioning to the chair, where he took a second before sitting quietly back down. There was nerve there, Dean could tell, but it really felt like this guy was looking for something more.
“I can tell when people lie to me…and I really feel like you aren’t, but it also feels like there’s a whole lot you aren’t sayin.” Dean stated plainly. “Not that I need to know the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but seriously man, what the hell were you doing following me to a haunted house?”
“You didn’t know there were two.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed again. A hunter, maybe? No way. “And you did?”
“Yes.”
“So…you waited til after they kicked my ass to let me know?”
“It was too early, and I couldn’t find you.”
“Too early for what? How the hell did you even know me in the first place?!”
Dean felt his frustration boil into anger and he clenched the fabric of the bedspread that was still half covering his legs. The man fell silent, but the meekness that had been there had steeled into something that resembled more of a fight.
“You are safe, are you not?” He said carefully, eyes trained on Dean like he was waiting to see the moment of shared realization. Which seriously, wasn’t coming.
“Safe enough, but that doesn’t…”
“It’s all that matters.” He spat out suddenly, before standing to his feet again and walking quickly to the door. “A favor returned, Dean. Just a little bit of kindness, that was all I wanted to give back to you.”
Before Dean could say anything else, whether it be arguing for, against, or simply asking what the hell was going on again, the door had opened and shut, and the man was gone.
Sam really had been the better one with diplomacy.
All he seemed to be able to do at that point was blink at the space there, as if the last ten minutes had somehow not even just happened, and marvel at what a bizarre time he was having in this little Podunk of a place. Between stray cats, creepy druggies, twin bitch ghosts with a vengeance and now psychotic good Samaritans? Dean had officially stepped off the reservation into Crazytown.
It wasn’t until an hour or so later, as Dean was standing under a lukewarm shower trying desperately not to cry out as the water hit the fresh wounds down his back, that he realized he’d never actually introduced himself. Not once could he recall telling that man his name, and not a single one of the IDs he’d been carrying had his real first name on them either.
~*~
Dean sat uncomfortably in the booth at the diner, a mass of papers laid out in front of him and a pen sticking out of his mouth as he stared down at them without really seeing. There were little bandages all over his hands, which had taken the worst of the glass, but otherwise he wasn’t doing as bad as he’d thought.
Probably would have been worse off if he’d lay in that glass until he’d woken up on his own, which of course he knew who to thank for that small favor. But even then, he hadn’t even scrounged himself out a thank you to the guy for his efforts. Cause what was a Winchester if not a stubborn, selfish, paranoid bastard who didn’t know a good deed when it was slapping him in the face. Not like Dean had deserved it anyway.
It hadn’t been until later that Dean had finally realized that he’d seen the guy the day before in that very same diner. The one that had been trying really hard not to look in his direction. Of course, that didn’t automatically make him dangerous, or all that good at it if he was…only that the dude had good taste, that’s all. Dean sighed, letting his head droop down til his forehead hit the newsprint and he could take in the smell of the recycled, musty paper. Everything in the place was damp by then and had some kind of wet-smelling aroma that was even starting to soak into him no matter how many showers he took.
“Lot on your mind, sweetheart?”
Dean tilted his head back up to find the sweet, smiling face of that same rosy-cheeked waitress he’d seen the day before. She looked tired, like she’d been there for a twelve hour shift rather than an eight, but still, she was smiling like he meant something. Dean knew that sorta smile, knew how to give it too.
“Nothing I can’t handle, darlin. I’ll take some of that awesome coffee you guys have if the givin’s still good.”
The woman grinned; Alice, her name tag said. “Givin’s always good here, hon. So long’s you steer clear the meatloaf.”
Dean chuckled, quickly checking what was in front of him to make sure all the important things were covered. “I’ll keep that in mind. How’s the pie?”
“Best in four counties. Apple, cherry, raspberry, pumpkin, sweet potato and rhubarb.”
“I don’t think I wanna know what a rhubarb is, so apple, please.” He grinned, offering her a charming wink as she nodded, scribbled it down then spun back to continue her rounds. It was a bit past the dinner rush, so there weren’t many people there anymore, but enough passerby that no one really cared about another drifter.
Such was nearly every diner, really. It was why his dad had relied on them so much instead of fast food. Easier to watch two boys, feed them all, catch up on his research, and no one would give two shits to the wind about them.
But even there, where nothing should have distracted him from the goal of salting and burning the remains of a pair of angry twins, Dean was having a hard time focusing.
It looked like there was an actual grave site for one of them, the twin who had died about a month before her sister had gone missing. Which was kind of why no one had been all that surprised when they couldn’t find her, let alone kept up the search. There was probably some crazy love triangle/murder thing that went on in that house, but Dean was damned if he cared at that point. He just wanted to get it done and over with. Possibly even find out where his father was and meet up with him. Stop and visit Jim, or maybe even Caleb on his way east. Something familiar.
Cause at that point, Dean was feeling like nothing more than a confused, beat up and drowned rat. Not even the pie made him feel better. And all the while, with everything he tried to focus on, all he could picture were those damn striking, steely eyes.
It made him wonder how his little monster was doing out the in the rain too. And whether or not Dean would see him again.
Now there was an odd jump in thought process.