Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hasperkynipples) wrote2008-10-25 12:17 am
hasperkynipples) wrote2008-10-25 12:17 am
Entry tags:
will you walk with me out on the wire? [cuz babe I'm just a scared and lonely rider]
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failuretotrust used with permission of her mun who made a request for Dean/Agent 99.]
He dropped Sam off at the hotel, and then just kept driving. He needed some time alone to himself for a while, especially after the most recent case and the fact that Sam just wouldn’t let up about some of the things he’d run screaming from. He knew that it wasn’t his fault, and ghost sickness sucked but the fact that he’d screamed like a little girl over a cat of all things was starting to get to him. Sam wasn’t helping.
How they wound up in New York after all this, he didn’t know, but he was glad they had. Despite the fact that there was no room to drive anywhere, it was loud and noisy and bright, and was a fantastic distraction from his usual mess of problems. You could get lost in New York City, no matter how badly you tried to stand out. And Dean needed to be nobody to anyone for a while. Though that didn’t last very long when he wound up coasting to a stop in front of Stark Industries and looking up at the building in front of him wondering what the fuck he was doing here.
It was late on a Friday. She probably wouldn’t be working, but he didn’t know where else to look for her. So he could just sit there, and stare aimlessly at her building, wondering if he also managed to lose his nerve with that stupid haunting, instead of just his pride. He didn’t know what it was about this girl, but there was just something about her that made him trip over his words as they were coming out. He didn’t like that feeling. It generally speaking never happened, and as far as he was concerned, he liked keeping it that way. It was a few minutes before he made peace with the fact that he was only making himself look like an idiot, and he was about to just turn the car back on again when he heard a sound that he really shouldn’t be hearing, regardless of the fact that he was sitting outside the workplace of a weapons manufacturer.
The gunshots came from out of nowhere, and was combined with the sounds of heels running across the pavement. He was about to get the hell out of there, considering he didn’t want to be in the middle of any kind of gunfight, not tonight, but as the person who was running got closer, he couldn’t help but put two and two together to recognize the face.
Brenda.
He turned the key in the ignition quickly, watching her carefully as she kept coming closer. He acted on instinct, shouting her name out through the open window and pushing the door open watching as she dove inside and slammed the door behind her without even breaking a sweat.
“Drive,” she ordered, firing back out the window as the car pulled away from the curb and into the street. After she finished, she pulled herself back into the car, and Dean could see a flash of red just under her hairline, and the blood that was starting to slide down the side of her face.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she answered curtly. “Just—get me out of here, okay?”
“Fine,” he sighed, before turning his eyes back to the road. “Hope you like Motel Six.” Her eyes snapped to him at that and he gave her a look. “You do realize what people shooting at you means, right? You know they’re going to have your place covered, so you might as well find somewhere else to lay low.”
Brenda opened her mouth—probably to ask him how he knew that—but the shut it and decided not to argue. Instead she just let Dean drive, get her a room, and lead the way up, and while Dean found that a little strange considering their current relationship, he wasn’t going to argue with her. She’d been through hell—he wasn’t going to pick a fight when he didn’t need to. Pushing open the door, he flicked on the lights, and moved towards the bathroom, looking for the first aid kit.
“Sit down, I’ll clean out that cut.”
“It’s fine,” she sighed, following him. “I’ll do it myself.”
“Can you see it?” Dean asked, turning to face her with a skeptical look. She returned it before sighing heavily.
“Fine. But I’m not helpless.”
“I know you’re not. But you just spent the evening being shot at.” He disappeared into the bathroom, projecting his voice slightly so that she could hear him. “Would you let someone else take care of you for two seconds?” He was pretty sure he heard a huff, but he didn’t hear anything after that. He just collected the first aid kit and made his way back out into the living room. He placed the kit down on the bed and flipped it open, before taking her head gently and pushing her hair back, trying to get a good look at the cut. “So who were those guys anyway?”
“No one,” she replied stonily. He looked down at her, to the point where it was almost a glare, and her eyes snapped away from his. “Just some work thing.”
“Some work thing. Right.”
“Look—I don’t ask you about your work life that you clearly don’t want to talk about, therefore I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give me the third degree about mine.”
Dean didn’t respond, just went back to what he was doing. Fact of the matter was, he shouldn’t even be here. He should have be here already. He shouldn’t have walked out of her hotel room five months ago, he shouldn’t have been letting the fact that he was dying get to him, but he did and now he was stuck with this. A beautiful girl he did nothing but bicker with, and he’d blown his chance to high hell, but for some reason he’s not just letting it go like he usually would. Instead, he was continuing to get himself into situations like this, where she wouldn’t fucking sit still, and winding up bickering with a woman who he was pretty sure hated him.
“Damnit woman, would you just sit still?”
Brenda glared up at him, before swatting his hand away. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t care. You’re bleeding. Sit still, chill out, and let me clean out this cut.”
He was pretty sure she was pouting. He was trying not to let it phase him much. He had a job to do and if she kept doing that with her face, he was going to be very distracted and do something that wouldn’t make him seem all that attractive at the moment. He could feel her watching him eyes angled up to his wrist as though she didn’t trust him—and really, why should she?—but that was also making her head tilt back and effectively making his job harder. He gave her a look, before pushing her head down and going back to work. He heard her snort slightly, and his eyes rolled back up so that he was looking at the ceiling, but his tone was anything but friendly. “What?”
“You don’t want me looking there.”
He glanced down and saw what her eyes were level with, and just smirked. “You’re not exactly speaking from personal experience, sweetheart.” At that, he finished what he was doing and pulled away from her. “Done.”
Brenda just smirked at him, before leaning back on her hands and arching an eyebrow at him. “Having no personal experience is no fault of mine.”
Dean set his jaw slightly. “Not mine either. When I came back—”
“Exactly. That’s the problem, Dean. You ‘came back,’ but you can’t tell me where you came back from or what the hell happened to you. You just keep it all bottled up and expect me to just pick things up again, when really, Dean? It’s not all that easy. I don’t do so well with guys who keep secrets.”
“Oh, I’m keeping secrets? I don’t even know what your real name is. First it’s Beth, but now it’s Brenda, and now you have this super secretive job that gets you shot at, and you expect me to just sit here and take it, and I do a pretty good job of just fucking taking it.”
“I don’t even see why you care,” she fired back. “You didn’t have to come back. You’re the one who blew me off. Maybe it would have been easier for you if you had just stayed gone.”
“Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have just stayed out of this and let you eat bullets back there. Certainly wouldn’t have been no skin off my back.”
There was a frustrated sound that came off something like a growl before she held up her hands, fingers tensing. “Dear God, no one asked you to take care of me. I certainly didn’t. I can take care of myself.”
“Sure, you can. You were doing real well—”
“Would you just shut up?” she groaned, moving closer to him and her voice dropping as she spoke. “You and your constant yelling and high and mighty attitude are giving me one hell of a migraine, and if you don’t get out of my face about this right now, I will shoot you.”
Dean didn’t move. Dean never moved, not during an argument like this. Instead, he only stared at her, trying to figure out what exactly he was supposed to say back to that. Truth was he had nothing to say to that. He didn’t know where he was supposed to go with this, and his body decided to kick in on instinct. However, instead of moving away from her, he was moving towards her. He had one hand at her waist, and the other cupping the back of her head as he pulled her in for a rough kiss.
She fought him at first. He didn’t blame her—this wasn’t exactly the sanest move he’d ever made—but he didn’t back down. Instead he just pulled her closer, leaning into the kiss more until she caved and started really kissing him back, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. He started to back her towards the bed, and she didn’t stop him. If anything, in fact, she encouraged him. Her fingers matched his as they pulled at each other’s clothes, tossing them to the floor as they went, before they tumbled down to the bed, a mess of limbs and skin, and barely parting from each other for anything more than they had to.
When it was over, Dean was doing his best to fight the instinct to get up and go. He usually didn’t stick around—his job didn’t really allow for it. But he didn’t feel right leaving her either—not after all of that. Instead he just laid back against the pillows, stewing and trying to gather his thoughts and figure out the easiest way out of there, when she rolled over to face him letting her fingers start to trace circles against his chest.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” she said slowly, but he could hear in her voice that she wanted him to. “I mean—I can handle sleeping.”
“I’ll stay if you want me to,” he said with a sigh, taking the decision out of his hands and putting it into someone else’s. It was what he did best after all, especially when it came to decisions he didn’t understand.
She paused for a minute, keeping her mind focused on his chest and closing her eyes. “Might be good to have—in case those guys manage to track me down.”
Dean nodded for a minute, sliding an arm around her shoulders and leaning back to get comfortable. “Guess I’m staying, then.”
She paused, before flashing him a small smile and curling up closer, just closing her eyes and letting herself relax. “Yeah—guess so.”
2011 words
failuretotrust used with permission of her mun who made a request for Dean/Agent 99.]He dropped Sam off at the hotel, and then just kept driving. He needed some time alone to himself for a while, especially after the most recent case and the fact that Sam just wouldn’t let up about some of the things he’d run screaming from. He knew that it wasn’t his fault, and ghost sickness sucked but the fact that he’d screamed like a little girl over a cat of all things was starting to get to him. Sam wasn’t helping.
How they wound up in New York after all this, he didn’t know, but he was glad they had. Despite the fact that there was no room to drive anywhere, it was loud and noisy and bright, and was a fantastic distraction from his usual mess of problems. You could get lost in New York City, no matter how badly you tried to stand out. And Dean needed to be nobody to anyone for a while. Though that didn’t last very long when he wound up coasting to a stop in front of Stark Industries and looking up at the building in front of him wondering what the fuck he was doing here.
It was late on a Friday. She probably wouldn’t be working, but he didn’t know where else to look for her. So he could just sit there, and stare aimlessly at her building, wondering if he also managed to lose his nerve with that stupid haunting, instead of just his pride. He didn’t know what it was about this girl, but there was just something about her that made him trip over his words as they were coming out. He didn’t like that feeling. It generally speaking never happened, and as far as he was concerned, he liked keeping it that way. It was a few minutes before he made peace with the fact that he was only making himself look like an idiot, and he was about to just turn the car back on again when he heard a sound that he really shouldn’t be hearing, regardless of the fact that he was sitting outside the workplace of a weapons manufacturer.
The gunshots came from out of nowhere, and was combined with the sounds of heels running across the pavement. He was about to get the hell out of there, considering he didn’t want to be in the middle of any kind of gunfight, not tonight, but as the person who was running got closer, he couldn’t help but put two and two together to recognize the face.
Brenda.
He turned the key in the ignition quickly, watching her carefully as she kept coming closer. He acted on instinct, shouting her name out through the open window and pushing the door open watching as she dove inside and slammed the door behind her without even breaking a sweat.
“Drive,” she ordered, firing back out the window as the car pulled away from the curb and into the street. After she finished, she pulled herself back into the car, and Dean could see a flash of red just under her hairline, and the blood that was starting to slide down the side of her face.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she answered curtly. “Just—get me out of here, okay?”
“Fine,” he sighed, before turning his eyes back to the road. “Hope you like Motel Six.” Her eyes snapped to him at that and he gave her a look. “You do realize what people shooting at you means, right? You know they’re going to have your place covered, so you might as well find somewhere else to lay low.”
Brenda opened her mouth—probably to ask him how he knew that—but the shut it and decided not to argue. Instead she just let Dean drive, get her a room, and lead the way up, and while Dean found that a little strange considering their current relationship, he wasn’t going to argue with her. She’d been through hell—he wasn’t going to pick a fight when he didn’t need to. Pushing open the door, he flicked on the lights, and moved towards the bathroom, looking for the first aid kit.
“Sit down, I’ll clean out that cut.”
“It’s fine,” she sighed, following him. “I’ll do it myself.”
“Can you see it?” Dean asked, turning to face her with a skeptical look. She returned it before sighing heavily.
“Fine. But I’m not helpless.”
“I know you’re not. But you just spent the evening being shot at.” He disappeared into the bathroom, projecting his voice slightly so that she could hear him. “Would you let someone else take care of you for two seconds?” He was pretty sure he heard a huff, but he didn’t hear anything after that. He just collected the first aid kit and made his way back out into the living room. He placed the kit down on the bed and flipped it open, before taking her head gently and pushing her hair back, trying to get a good look at the cut. “So who were those guys anyway?”
“No one,” she replied stonily. He looked down at her, to the point where it was almost a glare, and her eyes snapped away from his. “Just some work thing.”
“Some work thing. Right.”
“Look—I don’t ask you about your work life that you clearly don’t want to talk about, therefore I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give me the third degree about mine.”
Dean didn’t respond, just went back to what he was doing. Fact of the matter was, he shouldn’t even be here. He should have be here already. He shouldn’t have walked out of her hotel room five months ago, he shouldn’t have been letting the fact that he was dying get to him, but he did and now he was stuck with this. A beautiful girl he did nothing but bicker with, and he’d blown his chance to high hell, but for some reason he’s not just letting it go like he usually would. Instead, he was continuing to get himself into situations like this, where she wouldn’t fucking sit still, and winding up bickering with a woman who he was pretty sure hated him.
“Damnit woman, would you just sit still?”
Brenda glared up at him, before swatting his hand away. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t care. You’re bleeding. Sit still, chill out, and let me clean out this cut.”
He was pretty sure she was pouting. He was trying not to let it phase him much. He had a job to do and if she kept doing that with her face, he was going to be very distracted and do something that wouldn’t make him seem all that attractive at the moment. He could feel her watching him eyes angled up to his wrist as though she didn’t trust him—and really, why should she?—but that was also making her head tilt back and effectively making his job harder. He gave her a look, before pushing her head down and going back to work. He heard her snort slightly, and his eyes rolled back up so that he was looking at the ceiling, but his tone was anything but friendly. “What?”
“You don’t want me looking there.”
He glanced down and saw what her eyes were level with, and just smirked. “You’re not exactly speaking from personal experience, sweetheart.” At that, he finished what he was doing and pulled away from her. “Done.”
Brenda just smirked at him, before leaning back on her hands and arching an eyebrow at him. “Having no personal experience is no fault of mine.”
Dean set his jaw slightly. “Not mine either. When I came back—”
“Exactly. That’s the problem, Dean. You ‘came back,’ but you can’t tell me where you came back from or what the hell happened to you. You just keep it all bottled up and expect me to just pick things up again, when really, Dean? It’s not all that easy. I don’t do so well with guys who keep secrets.”
“Oh, I’m keeping secrets? I don’t even know what your real name is. First it’s Beth, but now it’s Brenda, and now you have this super secretive job that gets you shot at, and you expect me to just sit here and take it, and I do a pretty good job of just fucking taking it.”
“I don’t even see why you care,” she fired back. “You didn’t have to come back. You’re the one who blew me off. Maybe it would have been easier for you if you had just stayed gone.”
“Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have just stayed out of this and let you eat bullets back there. Certainly wouldn’t have been no skin off my back.”
There was a frustrated sound that came off something like a growl before she held up her hands, fingers tensing. “Dear God, no one asked you to take care of me. I certainly didn’t. I can take care of myself.”
“Sure, you can. You were doing real well—”
“Would you just shut up?” she groaned, moving closer to him and her voice dropping as she spoke. “You and your constant yelling and high and mighty attitude are giving me one hell of a migraine, and if you don’t get out of my face about this right now, I will shoot you.”
Dean didn’t move. Dean never moved, not during an argument like this. Instead, he only stared at her, trying to figure out what exactly he was supposed to say back to that. Truth was he had nothing to say to that. He didn’t know where he was supposed to go with this, and his body decided to kick in on instinct. However, instead of moving away from her, he was moving towards her. He had one hand at her waist, and the other cupping the back of her head as he pulled her in for a rough kiss.
She fought him at first. He didn’t blame her—this wasn’t exactly the sanest move he’d ever made—but he didn’t back down. Instead he just pulled her closer, leaning into the kiss more until she caved and started really kissing him back, sliding her arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. He started to back her towards the bed, and she didn’t stop him. If anything, in fact, she encouraged him. Her fingers matched his as they pulled at each other’s clothes, tossing them to the floor as they went, before they tumbled down to the bed, a mess of limbs and skin, and barely parting from each other for anything more than they had to.
When it was over, Dean was doing his best to fight the instinct to get up and go. He usually didn’t stick around—his job didn’t really allow for it. But he didn’t feel right leaving her either—not after all of that. Instead he just laid back against the pillows, stewing and trying to gather his thoughts and figure out the easiest way out of there, when she rolled over to face him letting her fingers start to trace circles against his chest.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” she said slowly, but he could hear in her voice that she wanted him to. “I mean—I can handle sleeping.”
“I’ll stay if you want me to,” he said with a sigh, taking the decision out of his hands and putting it into someone else’s. It was what he did best after all, especially when it came to decisions he didn’t understand.
She paused for a minute, keeping her mind focused on his chest and closing her eyes. “Might be good to have—in case those guys manage to track me down.”
Dean nodded for a minute, sliding an arm around her shoulders and leaning back to get comfortable. “Guess I’m staying, then.”
She paused, before flashing him a small smile and curling up closer, just closing her eyes and letting herself relax. “Yeah—guess so.”
2011 words