𝔉.

The room shook after every impact, bang after bang after bang. Each hit sent shockwaves into your bones. That cheap door wouldn’t hold forever. You knew that.

“Dean.” Your voice was smaller than you intended.

At this point you're not even sure if the door would hold, how do you even kill a ghost? Can’t exactly shoot it….

“I’m almost there, whatever you do,” Dean continued, “do not open that door until I get there.”

Then-

Click. 

He hung up. 

The line was dead. 

“No, no, no” your thumb immediately pressed his name.

Nothing.

Straight to voicemail.

Another crash echoed from the motel room.

Followed by the sound of furniture scraping across the floor, the room was being torn apart, the worst part being you were hiding from something you couldn’t even see. Your grip on the handgun tightened, besides being completely useless, it gave you a little comfort, like you could actually fight it. 

A new sound drifted into the bathroom, no scraping of metal, no banging, but scratching, slow and deliberate scratching. You pick up Murphy and put the both of y'all into the bathtub, maybe cheap porcelain might make a better barrier than cheap wood?

You held your breath as the scratching moved closer toward the bathroom them-

A woman's voice.

Soft and weak.

Like she was the one being terrorized.

A pained whisper came from just behind the door, 

“Help me.”

Every muscle in your body froze.

Dean and Sam were right. There really were bad monsters.

“please”

Murphy’s lips peeled back, baring every tooth, a low growl vibrated through his chest. This was the same dog who loved everyone, who wanted to be the brothers best friend after twelve minutes., whatever was on the other side of that door however, he hated it.

“Please”

Then a pause, a long silence fell over the bathroom, your heart was about to beat out of your chest. - 

Then- 

Your name.

That this, that monster, knew your name.

The bathroom fell into silence, no scratching, no whispering, nothing. Three sharp knocked echoed into the bathroom. 

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

A man’s voice came from the other side, “Sweetheart.”

Dean.

Murphy didnt move, didnt bark, the dog just stared at the door. Dean said not to open it, not unless it was him, 

Another knock.

“Open up.” 

“Dean?”

“It’s me.”

The dog let out the loudest growl you’d ever heard. Wrong, something was wrong, the voice came through the door again, louder this time, meaner.

“Come on, Sweetheart.” the door knob twisted. 

“Dean…”

The voice laughed, not deans laugh, something low then morphing into something wet and sick.

The light above the sick flickered, flickered once, flickered twice.

Murphy erupted, barking, snarling, throwing all of his defenses toward the door.

A deafening BOOM rang through the room. A shotgun fired.

And then another shot. 

Wood splintered somewhere from in the room, a mans voice flooded in, dean and sam.

“GET YOUR PANSY ASS OVER HERE.”

That thing on the other side released a sharp, piercing scream, the most inhuman shriek. The bathroom door shook so violently you could have swore it would fly off the hinges. Your tears became uncontrollable, you could hardly breathe, your entire life was just flipped on its head.

Then nothing, everything stopped, the light wasn’t flickering, the door was still. Just as quickly as it started. Heavy breathing and footsteps approached the door, you raised your handgun, then his voice came through the door. 

Quiet and steady. “Hey.” Dean. He was here. “You did good.”

“You kept the door shut.”

You got up, forcing yourself to find whatever strength you had left in your body to pull yourself out of the bathtub. Your fingers hovered the over the lock, Murphy’s growling stopped, the longest second passed over you as you unlocked the door. 

Sam was there, not Dean. He reached for you immediately, not rough or forceful just enough to get you out of the bathroom. “You okay?” he asked quickly, you opened your mouth but nothing could come out. Sam’s eyes widened slightly, he looked over your shoulder, “Dean.”

Dean was already moving into the bathroom, his shotgun raised he slipped bath the both of you and cleared the bathroom, dragging Murphy out of the bathtub. The room was empty.

You stood frozen next to Sam, the room was turned upside down, the dresser drawers were out, the lamp was bent in half, the television was on the floor and the bed was ripped to shreds. Looked like a damn tornado hit the room.

Dean lowered the shotgun, “Its gone.”

The words made something inside you snap, your knees gave out, Sam caught you before you hit the floor and ushered you to the torn up bed.

“Its okay, your okay now.” he said like that would heal over whatever the hell just happened. 

Truth is it wasn't, it wasn't okay, you weren’t okay.

Your hands were shaking so badly, you could barely keep hold on your handgun. Dean turned to you, his eyes dropping to the pistol still gripped in your fingers, for a second you thought he wouldn't say anything, then a small smile tugged at his mouth. 

“You did good. You didn’t freeze.”

“I hid in the bathtub.”

“You hid in a bathtub with a weapon…and your dog.”

A beat passed. 

“Smart girl.”

You stared at him, you stared at him like you were waiting for the punchline, waiting for him to laugh. 

Instead, Dean simply reached over and lowered the barrel toward the floor.

“You protected yourself.”

Something about the way he said it made your chest ache, Murphy suddenly shoved himself between the two of you, the giant dog pressed against Deans leg so hard he nearly stumbled. 

“Good job, buddy.” 

Murphy’s tail gave a small wag and dean looked back to you. 

“C’mon.” he pointed his head to the door.

Your frowned at him, his expression softened, “Your not staying in here tonight.” You looked around the hotel room, honestly, you weren't going to argue.

Minutes later you found yourself sitting on the edge of one of the brothers beds, Murphy laying in the chair across the room. Dean was digging around in a duffel bag and tossed something to you. A shirt, a grey, tattered but clean shirt.

You looked down at yourself, your hoodie was wet, not from the bathroom but from crying, you hadn’t even realized, you probably looked like a wreck.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I figured you’d be more comfortable.”

You looked at the first then at him.

“Thanks.” He headed toward the bathroom.

“You can change in there”

You stood then stopped, the tiny motel bathroom suddenly felt like it had shrunk, Dean seemed to notice and without saying a word, he turned around, his hands shoved into his pockets. Sam, thankfully, was too busy digging through a first aid kit to even notice you were in their room. 

You quickly pulled the damp hoodie over your head, the borrowed shirt smelled faintly like detergent, leather and Dean. The shirt was a little too big on you, the hem brushed the tops of your thighs, your sleep shorts barely peeked out beneath it, leaving most of your legs exposed.

You glanced back toward the mirror as you smoothed the fabric over your waist, Dean still had his back turned, his hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders tense, staring somewhere at the motel wall. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his shoulders were tense almost sitting by his ears. Then, his eyes lifted, he met your eyes in the mirror, the glance lasted less than a second. 

Dean immediately looked away, a paint pink crept to the tips of his ears. You looked down, pretending to adjust his shirt, pretending like you didnt notice his look.  

You took a breath and stepped out of the bathroom, deans back still facing you.

Across the room, Sam remained oblivious, he was kneeling on the floor beside murphy. The giant dog sat perfectly while same ran his hands throughout the fur around his legs.

“What are you doing?” You blinked. 

Sam looked up.

“Checking him for uh- for cuts.”

Murphy, apparently decided this was totally acceptable, the dog was leaning damn near his entire body weight against Sam. A small smile crossed his face. 

“I dont think he got touched.”

“You were worried about him?”

Sam looked genuinely confused.

“Well…yeah.”

“He weighs like sixty-five pounds.”

Dean snorted from across the room, Sam shot him a look.

“He was in there too.”

Looking down at Murphy, you would never have guessed what that dog has been through, tongue handing out like tonight had just been a little interruption. Sam gave him a final scratch.

“I think he’s okay.” Murphy immediately rolled over with a huff and demanded belly scratches, tail thumping on the carpet.

Dean finally turned around and his eyes met yours for a brief moment.

The oversized shirt, your bare legs, the fact you were physically okay.

A small flash of relief fell on his face before he covered it with a smug grin.

He looked over at Murphy. 

“Considering I saved his life three days ago, you would think he would like me more.”

He pointed at the dog, looking personally offended, you laughed, you couldn’t help it. 

Morning came quickly, the brothers were already awake, Sam was at the table reading newspaper clippings while dean was outside the hotel room. You stepped outside wearing Dean’s shirt and your sleep shorts, letting Murphy out while you held the door open. 

The morning felt good, felt normal.

You look toward the parking lot, watching Murphy inspect a good spot to go drop a turd. Then you gazed at your honda. 

For a second you didnt register what you were looking at, your windshield was shattered. Deep claw marks stretched across the driver's side. One tire was completely flat. The driver’sside door was halfway opened. 

Dean clicks his tongue. 

“I saw it first thing this morning.”

You walked toward it, slowly, carefully.

Your entire life was scattered into the parking lot. 

Clothes.

Maps.

Dog food.

One of your photo albums was laying open in the dirt. You bent down to pick it up, the plastic cover cracked, a picture of you and your dad had slipped out. 

You tap the photo back into place and you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Dean.

“Try to start it.” He instructs and hands you the key. Why he already had it was a question for another day.

You do as he says, walking to the driver side and sitting down, turning the ignition. 

Click.

Click.

Click.

Nothing. You tried again.

Click.

Click.

Click.

One more time and the engine didnt even try. 

You rested your forehead into your palms, “so…” you voice cracked.

“I just fixed this fucking car.”

Dean looked away and called Sam outside, the oldest brother filled Sam in on what happened, how your car is now inoperable. 

Sam took one look at you and Murphy, you were sitting on the ground pulling together your photos, his eyes roamed the scene, then back to dean.

“She can come with us,” he offered.

Dean instantly turned back, bewildered. 

“Sammy.” Dean pulls Sam aside, just out of ear shot of you. 

“What man? She’s alone.” Sam gestured to the honda.

“No.”

“Dean.”

“No.”

You stood up to collect Murphy, he was chewing on some sort of plastic he found. Sam took a closer step to you.

“Dean, she cannot stay here.”

“Don’t you think I know that.” Dean rubbed his hands over his face. “We hunt monsters, she is in danger every second she is with us..” 

“Yeah I know…”

 “That womenl is scared out of her mind.”

Both brothers look back at you, you were small, knees hugging into your chest while you pet your dog. 

“What about the dog man.”

“What about him?”

“The dog is not riding in my Baby.”

As if the dog was capable of following, murphy left your side and headed for the Impala, circled once, and sat down by the passenger door. 

Sam looked at the dog then to Dean.

“Oh, your kiddin’” 

Sam turned to you and met you in the grass beside the car, his smile was gentle, different than his brothers. 

“Go pack what you can.”

Dean looked at Sam.

“Sam.” 

Sam never took his eyes off you.

“Pack what you can.” He repeated, “and head out with us.”

You looked between the brothers, dean looked like he was biting his tongue, like he wanted to say no, wanted to remind Sam that they are hunters. Instead he looked at your ruined car. 

He looked at your photos, the yellow bruise on your face, and at Murphy.

Dean let out a laugh of disbelief, on his heels he swiveled around and trucked his way to the motel room.

You packed what was salvageable, left behind what wasnt. In the drivers seat the map was still there, folded neatly, chicago circled in blue sharpie. You folded it and slipped it into your backpack.

Dean loaded your two duffle bags into the car, Murphy was already inside, curled across the backseat. He pointed to the backseat, “If he drools, your cleaning it.”

“Yes, Dean.” you salute him.

Getting in the impala you take a last look at your mangled car.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

You were meant to leave.

You were meant to make it to Chicago.

You were supposed to start over. 

“You ready, sweetheart?” Dean rested his hand on the passenger head rest, looking back at you in the back row.

“Quit callin’ me that.”

One eyebrow lifted.

“Oh yeah?”

You crossed your arms.

“Or i’ll show you I ain’t sweet.”

“Are you always like this?” Dean scoffed.

The impala rumbled, peeling out of the parking lot and hitting the road. 

Murphy, the absolute traitor, had already abandoned your side and insisted on resting his face on the center console, begging Sam for scratches. “You’ve known him for twenty minutes dude.” you mutter. Murphy just continues to stare at Sam. 

Dean caught it in the rearview mirror. 

“Oh, that's cold.”

You glared at both Sam and the dog, “My own dog.” Murphy licked Sam’s hand, prompting another scratch.

You looked out the window for a moment, watching the trees pass, another thought comes to mind.

“So…” Both brothers look at you. Dean through the rearview mirror and Sam over his shoulder

“Are like unicorns real too?” you ask.

Sam looked at Dean, his eyes locked on the road. 

“Seriously? Obviously not” Dean answered. “Thats ridiculous.”

“What?” 

“You just watched a spirit tear your room to shred and trap you.”

“Yeah, I was there…”

“And so your first question is..unicorns?”

You shrugged.

“It felt like a fair one.”

Dean let out a breath out his nose, “No.”

“What do you mean, No?”

“No, sweetheart,” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, his grip returning to the wheel and tightening. “Ghosts? Sure. Demons, unfortunately real. Vampires, population bigger than i’d like. But Unicorns? Are you serious?”

He glanced at you through the rearview, eyes and expression mocking you, scanning over you like a child.

Sam quietly spoke up, “You know, it kinda is a fair question.”

“Sam.”

“Dean im just sayi-”

“Well don’t.”

You look between both brothers. “Yall are insane.” 

Dean nodded once, “Yeah.”

The quickness of the response caught you off guard. He wasn’t joking, wasn’t being sarcastic, wasn't smiling. Then, under his breath, “And, now your stuck with us.”

Your face felt hot, the car fell into silence. You looked into the window, the ruined car was gone, the motel was gone. Your fresh start felt father away than ever. 

“I didn’t ask for this.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, He didn’t look at you again for the next twenty miles. 

The sun was almost completely hidden by the time Dean finally broke the silence. He pulled the car into a parking lot, neon beer sign buzzing, country music blaring through speakers. 

Sam looked up from the book he was reading and looked at our new destination, “Why did we stop?”

Dean killed the engine, “We’re eatin’.” Sam looked from the bar to his brother, “We need to sleep dude.”

You looked between the brothers out the windshield…”I need a drink.” Dean’s eyes found yours in the rearview mirror, just for a second. Without another word, you reach for the handle opening the car door you let yourself and Murphy outside, heading toward the bar. 

Behind you, Sam smacked Dean’s shoulder, “Dude, what the hell?” Dean didn’t reply just simply climbed out the car, shoving the keys into his leather jacket, “Relax would’ya.” He nodded towards the highway, “Hotel’s just down the road.”

Dean opened the bar door, holding it just long enough for Murphy and you to slip inside, he looked back at his brother, “C’mon Sammy, You worry to much, you geek.”

This place was your typical roadside country bar, country music blaring, truckers in the corner, and a century old pool table under a flickering sign. Whiskey and leather flooded the air, what a terrific spot to relax…not.

Murphy immediately laid claim to a table in the corner, laying underneath a rounded hightop with barstools. The bartender pointed, “Well, ain't he a cutie.” She winked at you.

“He just liked being invited to the party, doesn't care who’s there.” You smiled.

Three beers and some tequila shots later, you were thinking maybe this wasn’t so bad, trapped on a roadtrip with two hot brothers? What more could a girl want. 

Sam sat at the round table flipping through some local newspaper, circling some paragraphs every once in a while, naturally, Dean wasn’t paying attention, his eyes scanning the room, probably for which girl he would swoon next. 

His eyes landed on the pool table and then to you, “You ever play?” you follow his gaze toward the green table, “No,” you shrugged, taking a swing of your beer. He looked genuinely bewildered, Dean pushed himself off his stool, “C’mon.”

“No…” You frowned. Unfortunately for you, hand-eye coordination sober was a struggle, so drunk, must be out of the question. “C’mon.” 

“Dean, I said no.” Before you could truly put up a fight he was already grabbing two cue sticks. “You went through hell last night, you're allowed to relax.” Sam looked up from his newspaper, “She’s gonna beat you.” 

Dean barked out a laugh, "Absolutely not.”

A few minutes later you stood awkwardly beside the table, cue stick clutched in both hands, Dean walked around the table to your side. “Not like that, your holding it wrong.”

“I’m literally holding a stick.”

“Yeah, well, its wrong.” You shot him a look and he grinned. “Real encouraging, Dean.”

“Move over.” before you could even step forward he was behind you, his chest brushed along side your back as his hand trailed on your hip, turning you just a little bit to face a new angle. The contact was casual, confident, rehearsed even, like he didn’t even think twice about what he was doing.

He leaded over your shoulder, reaching for your que stick and adjusting your grip on the que stick, close, he was too close. “Like this.” His hand slid on top of your own demonstrating where and how to point the que. 

“There you go.”

You swallow hard. The smell of cigarettes, leather and cheap beer wrapped around your nose, infiltrating your senses, he brought himself close enough now that you could hear him breathe, you blamed the warmth creeping up to your face and ears on the tequila. 

He brings his lips to your ear, his voice quiet and rough, “Relax.” 

“I am relaxed.” 

A soft chuckle pushed hot air across your neck, “No. No your not.”

You glance sideways, meeting inches from his face. You looked at him, the neon lights hanging above the pool table lit his green eyes on fire, you noticed the little freckles that dusted across his nose and cheeks, the scar that hung on his chin. For a man so rough, he didn’t look it up close.  Your eyes dropped back to the table, shaking your head and snapping out of it. Whatever that was.

Dean gently nudged the cue forward. “C’mon.” His breath hot against your neck, “Try it. Hit the ball.”

You tried, the white ball rolling forward across the felt, tapping another ball…and immediately bounced right back to you. 

Dean stared at the table. 

You stared at the table. 

“Im not trying to be mean, sweetheart,” He looks at you, releasing your grip but remaining close “I dont think i’ve ever seen a worse shot than that.”

“Wow.” 

Across the bar, sweet Sam looked up, beer raised, “I told you she would win!” Dean left your side and pointed to the table - the sudden loss of heat was…noticable. “She didn’t even hit the right ball. You crossed your arms, “I hit a ball”, he huffed “Yeah, the wrong one.”

Dean opened his mouth and before he could rub it in again, you snatch his que stick right out of his hands. His eyebrows shot up.

“Oh?”

You tilted your head towards the back wall of the bar, a faded dart board hung there beside a old juke box. “Why dont we even the playing field?” Dean followed your gaze.

“Darts?”

“Darts.”

The cockiest grin spread across his face, bringing a beer to his lips, “You any good?” you shrugged, “My daddy didn’t like me wasting bullets.” Dean laughed, “Whats that got to do with darts.”

“He taught me to aim.” For the first time since walking into the bar, Dean’s smile faltered, just for a second, he looked at you, really studied you.

He handed you three darts, “Ladies first.” Your eyes rolled. “Scared, Dean?”

Dean barked out a laugh, “Sweetheart, I hunt monsters.”

You take your position at the line, “Not what I asked.”

Behind you, both brothers stood quietly, beers in hand with Murphy glued to Sam’s boots.

You balanced the dart in between your fingers, thoughts of when dad taught you how to shoot csme racing to your mind, how he always reminded you to breathe, to not think so hard about where your aiming.

Thunk.

The dart landed right where you wanted, right off the center. Sam stared at the board slack jawed and turned to his brother, “...Shes good dean.”

Dean looked from you to the dartboard, “...Beginner’s luck”

“Oh yeah?” you pick up another dart from the plastic cup, placing it in deans hands. “What happens if I win?”

Dean laughed, mocking you and wiping a fake tear from his eye, “Sweetheart, your not beating me.”

“What?”

“Please” he scoffed, raising his beer to you, “Name your price.”

You glanced out the window toward the highway, then back to dean, running your eyes from his jeans, to his belt, to his black t-shirt. “Loser pays for the hotel.” Sam nearly choked on his drink.

“You know what,” He takes the dart in his hand and walks to the board, stepping up beside you, “Your on.”

“This is how you do it.” his dart reaching the bullseye, Dean turns around arms spread and bows. “What’d I tell ya?” You looked at the board, ignoring the smugness across his face.

“You talk to much.”

You threw your second dart, throwing it harder than the first, landing so close to his they were almost touching. “That hotel is gonna be expensive, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean didn’t look at his brother, he looked at you, ignoring the fact it was his turn to play, something in his eyes changed.The grin on his face stayed but softened, he took two slow steps toward you, he reached out and caught you by your wrist, not hard but just enough to pull you closer to him. 

The bar faded, suddenly there was no music, no conversations.

Dran leaned down into you, just enough that you could feel his breath near your ear. “Dont ever call me that.” His voice was low, rough and strained from the whiskey and beer. You looked up at him, stupid grin still on his face, you should’ve pulled away, should’ve shut up. 

You tilted your head, “Oh?” then you smiled, “What should I call you then?”

He grips the steering wheel tighter and tighter, leather straining underneath him. The muscles in his jaw were tight, the jokes stopped the second they’d left the bar. The radio was off. 

Sam insisted on you sitting up front, partially because he was scared of Dean, but mostly so he could be with Murphy in the back seat. Everything was off, even the dog could tell. You looked over to him, green eyes so fixed on the road it looked like a trance, before you’d seen him cocky, smirking, laughing. Now, its been replaced by something else.

“You mad I beat you?”

Nothing. Just Dean’s knuckles turning almost white, you tried to laugh it off, “Just’a game y’know.”

Still nothing. The silence started to hurt, you looked out your window, darkness and woods rolled past. 

Finally, he spoke quietly, “This isn’t a game y’know. Travellin’ with us.” His jaw was tight. 

“Dean?”

“This.” His hand lifted from the wheel and pointed his thumb to the backseat, to Sam and Murphy. “The bar. The drinks. The jokes. His eyes remain forward. “This ain’t some spring break roadtrip.” 

Your stomach sinks, “I didn’t say that.”

“You think we’re just driving around and playing pool while creatures you can’t even imagine are killing people?” Sam shifted in the backseat, “Dean, stop”

His hand shot up,”No.” Dean’s eyes never leave the road ahead, “You don’t know what this life does to people.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“No. I dont think you do, sweetheart.” the pet name felt so ugly now, like he was talking down to you. 

“You batard,” Your body felt small, you felt like a child being reprimanded. 

“You don’t even know me.” You scoff.

“You dont know where im from.”

“You don’t really know where I was going.”

“You dont know why i left.”

“I know enough.” You looked at him, really looked at him, the man who thought he had you made out after three days, the man who looked at your bruises and thought that was the whole story. 

“You dont know shit.” You seeth. 

“You think your the first person to think they can handle this?” his voice was louder now, deeper. “You know what happens?”

Nobody answered. 

“They die.”

“They get too involved and they die.”

You stared at him. 

The alcohol gone. The warmth and flutters of butterflies are gone. The memory of his hand on yours, gone. 

The ride to the new hotel was silent. Nobody had spoken.

Not you.

Not Dean.

Not even Sam.

The tires crunched gravel as the impala rolled into the parking lot. The second the door opened, the giant dog jumped out from the back bench and stood beside you, protective and watchful. You open the trunk and grabbed your duffel without looking at either brother. Sam’s hand paused halfway to the bag, “I got it.” he let go. 

The both of you stood there for a second, Dean finally looked at you, through a mirror but at least it was an acknowledgment. “Thanks for the hotel.” His eyes meet yours, still unreadable. 

Sam gets checked into the hotel room and the three of yall head to the room, dean remaining in the car. “Y’know, I hope you don’t take this personally.” Sam says opening the hotel room door. 

“Your kidding right?” you laughed quietly. A tired laugh. He frowned and took his bag and set it on the floor by a chair, “He does this alot.” he shrugs, “He just gets worked up and doesn’t know how to be normal about it.”

You scoffed, “still, he doesn’t know me.”

You set your stuff down on the pullout couch and the room fell into silence, not the comfortable kind. 

Dean unlocked the door and let himself in. Murphy jumped onto the couch and stared at him, huffing a little when he walked by. Instead of saying anything, he set his keys down and layed on the bed, back facing you. 

You take off your shoes and steal a blanket from Sam’s unused bed, and settle onto your couch. Murphy shifted up the couch, laying into your chest, you buried yourself into the dog's fur. The brothers behind you appeared to be out cold. 

You squeezed your eyes shut. Do. Not. Cry.

Not over a guy who ripped you a new one after only three days of knowing him. That is weird and that is over-involved. 

Quietly, you let a few tears shed. Across the room, the springs on one of the beds shifted once, then went still. You heard soft footsteps in the room, first to the bathroom the back to the bed, you could hear boots scuffing across the cheap carpet. A quick glance over your shoulder told you it was Dean.

He threw on his jacket and quietly shuffled out the door. 

Where the hell is he going? You decide to follow him, in a rush you slip out the door behind him. Down the hallway you see him, hands in his hair, walking outside towards the parking lot, you decide to follow after him. He shouldn’t be driving after drinking so much. Sam would be pissed if you let his brother get arrested. 

The outside air feels thick and muggy, if not for the slight breeze cutting across the parking lot,  it almost would have been unbearable. You found him leaning his hip on the driver's side door, rummaging around the pocket of his leather jacket.

“Dean…” You call out to him, watching him cross the parking lot, attention still locked onto whatever was in his pocket.. You try again, “Dean.” 

This time he looked over his shoulder, just a second long enough to know it was you calling for him. “Go back inside.” His voice wasn’t angry anymore, no longer covered in thorns, just tired. “It’s late, you should sleep.”

You stepped off the curb and crossed the parking lot to get closer to him, stopping just a few feet from him. “What was that in the car?” He looked away, “It was nothin’”.

“Bull-fucking-shit.”

The words fell out before you could really think, his jaw was wound tight, muscle clicking out to the side. You took another step toward him, “You don’t get to act like your reprimanding me and then tell me it’s nothin’.” He finally stopping digging in his jacket and pulled a box of smokes out and rolled the cigarette between his fingers. 

“Since when do you smoke?”

“Since right now, damnit.”  He lit the tobacco, “My head spinnin’ already and I could hear you cr-” he stopped. You folded your arms, you probably looked like a child, face stained with tears, eyes red, and throwing a temper-tantrum. 

“What’s got your mind goin’?”

Dean let out a slow puff of white smoke, “Im thinkin’ of the bar.”

You expected him to say something else but somehow this was equally as bad, “yeah? What about it?”

“How you laughed.” 

His answer got caught in your chest, the feeling of murderous butterflies filled your stomach. “Well, You and sam were pickin’ on me.” A little smile danced on his face, dean looked down at his cigarette, “You know how you looked…” he stopped, flicked the ash from his fingers, “You looked happy.”

Silence.

At that moment the world stopped spinning. The hotel sign wasn’t buzzing. The wind stopped blowing into your hair. Your stomach knotted so hard you thought you might be sick. Your chest felt tight, the dull ache that came after your tears stopped flowing or the kind after spinning too fast on a rollercoaster. Your brain as telling you to run but your feet wouldn’t listen. 

“I knew for a few hours you forgot.”

“Wha-”

“You forgot about my job. What happened to you.” Dean looked up, green eyes bright against the red surrounding them. He laughed once, no  humor dripping from it, “...You know, I wasn’t thinkin’ about what’s next.”

“The next dead body. The next thing thats tryin’ to fuckin' kill me.” He turned his face, jaw tight. 

“Hell- I was teachin’ you pool.” 

Hurt didn’t begin to cover it.

“I was watchin’ you beat my ass at darts.” He looked like he was in pain, like he was being cut down by each word he spoke. His feet were firmly planted but you could swear the look in his eyes looked like he was on the run. 

“And i liked it,” his voice caught on something painful, “I started to wonder about you stickin’ around.” he shook his head.

You thought back to the girl ripped apart in the motel. Thought about the newspaper, the ghost, your car. 

“Why did you yell at me, Dean.” you asked, voice so quite, so frail and vulnerable. Dean looked away, “I-i forgot you weren’t apart of this.”

Your eyes burned, a tear slipped down your face, no point in even trying to hold them in. “I don’t have chicago anymore.”

His face was broken, he looked anywhere but you, at the impala, at dirt. 

Neither of you moved, the cigarette almost burned to the filter, you reached up and took it from his hand. 

One small little drag and you handed it back, “So that’s it.” He frowned, “What?”

“You get to decide where I go”

Your voice shook.

“ Where my time is spent?”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. The distance between you disappeared, you look up at him begging him to just say something. Anything to affirm hes actually in front of you listening. He dropped the cigarette. 

“You should hate me right now.” His voice was low and pained, the smallest saddest smile was hung on his lips. "I' m tryin’ real hard to hate you.” You looked at him. 

The stupid leather jacket and tired pitiful green eyes. 

You reached up, putting your palms to the black t-shirt across his chest. Dean looked down at you, his own hands finding your cheeks, his thumb wiping away the tears. “Sweetheart, you shoulda’ kept drivin’.” You shook your head, “I took the wrong exit.”

His eyes looked at your lips. His own so close and daring you to touch. He dipped down to yours, his kiss soft and hot. He was careful, like he was apologizing and trying to memorize what you felt like all at once. His tongue made quick swipes on your lower lip, you released a low hum into him. His hands lowered, rough palms found your hips grabbing them and picking you up, throwing your legs up and placing you softly onto the hood of the impala. He kissed you like you might turn to smoke the second he stopped, he was soft and kind while his palms found your hips and thighs. “De-dean.” you let out another soft little moan and he quickly swallowed it whole.

His hands rested on the peaks of your thighs, exposed by the sleep shorts you had on. “You like it when I touch your thighs, girly?” he whispered into your ear, quickly reconnected with your lips. You could still see the whiskey and cigarette smoke on his tongue. His hips snap in between your thighs as you run your hands through his hair. You could have sworn he was about to burst out of his seams before he pulled back, keeping his torso between your thighs. Dean let out a breath, “You're gonna kill me, sweetheart.” 

He helps you off the hood of the Impala, “Dean look-”

He cut you off “lets go back inside.” You look at his lips, still pink and slightly glistening from where you just were. You shook your head and he guides you inside, leading you with a hand behind his back.

Inside the room you found Murph cuddled with Sam, Dean was already taking off his jacket and shoes. “Sleep in here tonight,” he nodded towards his bed, “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Dean no-” you shook your head, “you paid for the room, take the bed.” your face immediately felt warm. He looked to you, “Take the bed.” so matter of fact. You shook your head.

“I’m not making you sleep on that couch.”

He started towards you, slowly, you forgot how tall he was until he was standing right in front of you, the room felt so criminally small.

“I said sleep in the bed, please.”

For a second, neither of you moved, not even a breath. 

Before your brain could stop you, “Sleep with me.”

Your own eyes widened. Dean blinked. Murphy looked up from Sam’s bed. 

You pointed towards the hotel bathroom. “In case...y’know…”  You shuffled your feet unable to find yourself balanced, “Demons.”

“Demons?”

“Or ghosts.”

“Spirits. They are called spirits.” Then, without further explanation, he turned past you, sliding off his jeans leaving him in just his black shirt and boxers. He climbed to the side of the bed, staying fully on top of the blankets. You slipped in beside him under the quilt blanket. There was an awkward amount of air between you.

You felt something brush against your hand.

Deans fingers.

Barely touching yours. Just checking to make sure you were still there. He scooted closer to you, both of your faces were side to side. Neither of you moved away. 

To his credit, he didn't argue, just shrugged “Yeah” He kicked the rocks under this shoe, “A little.”

You roll your eyes “A little” scoffing at him, tightening your grip on Murphy’s leash.

”The gas station was what? Two days ago?” 

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Two states ago.” Another nod “Also yeah,” You pointed to the room numbers behind him, “Well looks like we’re neighbors now.” His eyebrows lifted slightly like he hadn’t even considered that part yet. “That's weird.” the words came out firmer this time. The taller man looked over his shoulder at the motel room he’d just exited before rubbing the back of his neck, a small laugh escaping, “Yeah, when you put it like that-” He stopped.

The change was instant. One second he was smiling, the next all the color from him was drained. The ice bucket slipped from his hand hitting the pavement with a loud crash. For a moment he didn't notice, he started to grab the side of his head wincing like he was fighting off a migraine or just trying to stay standing.

Concern twisted in your stomach, Murphy abandoned the bush he’d been investigating and trotted towards you, creating space between you and the strange man. 

Then just as suddenly as it started -

It stopped.

His eyes blinked, slightly brimmed with tears. He focused on you, inhaling sharply like he had forgotten to breathe, for a second he almost looked concerned? Not scared but concerned. 

“What? What was that?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, his eyes flickered to the motel sign then toward you again. Before he could answer, the motel door flew open. 

“Sammy.” His voice was sharp, to the point, curt.The guy in the leather jacket had appeared so quickly you hadn’t noticed him exit the room. His eyes immediately landed on the bucket, then to his partner. “Inside. Now.” The taller man – Sammy, apparently – swallowed his eyes still locked onto you, like he wanted to say something, trying to decide if he should.

Instead he nodded, turning swiftly back into his room without another word. The guy in the leather jacket lingered behind, his eye went back to the ice bucket, then to you, then to Murphy. For a moment it looked like he was actually considering saying something. Instead he follows his partner inside.

What the fuck drugs are they taking? No human acts like that? You look down at Murphy “Lets go back inside, boy” He looks up at you like he's begging you for an explanation. 

The second you step foot in your room, you lock the door.

Twice.

Mostly because of the two freaks next door. 

Murphy immediately reclaimed his spot on the bed while you brushed your teeth, attempting to convince yourself tonight was normal.

It wasn't. But you were too tired to care. 

After turning off the lamp, you crawled beneath the blankets and settled in besides Murphy. The dog shifted closer until his back was pressed firmly onto your side. Typical.

For a while, everything was quiet. You actually found yourself beginning to drift off when muffled voices came through the wall.

“...You sure?”

You opened one eye. Apparently the walls here are made of cardboard.

Another voice answered. 

Lower.

Angrier.

Too low to make out full sentences.

“Dean.”

That name caught your attention, you recognized that one. 

Then you heard pacing, you could hear footsteps through the wall.

Back and forth.

Back and forth. Then the voices started again, louder.

“...SAW HER”

You froze. 

Okay.

Now they had your attention. 

“You don't know that.”

The response was immediate and sharp, maybe even a little defensive. You propped yourself up on your elbows, the voices dropped too low to understand for just a heartbeat. 

“Someone dies, Dean.” 

You looked at the wall. A Chair scraped loudly across the floor next door, Both voices started talking over each other. You couldn't make out a thing. Your stomach twisted, you’d spent enough time with unstable men to recognize when something felt off. 

Eventually the voices stopped.

No pacing.

No arguing.

Nothing.

Just silence. 

Murphy’s breathing was steady beside you. The motel air conditioner rattled every few seconds. Everything felt normal. 

Instead, your stomach twisted. Maybe because you;d spent years learning how to listen through walls, learning when yelling turned dangerous. 

You hated that your body still did it, still listened for it.

A door slammed outside, Murphy’s head shot up, the dog staring at the motel room door. Then footsteps, fast and purposeful.

You slide out of bed, pulling the curtain back just enough to peek through, you look out into the parking lot. At first you don't see anything. 

Then movement.

The tall one.

Sam.

He was crossing the parking lot alone, moving fast enough to be concerned. His jacket wasn’t even all the way on until he reached their impala ripping the truck open. 

A second later Dean came barreling out of the room, he grabbed Sam’s shoulder, both men looked toward the tree line beyond the motel. 

Whatever they were seeing, you couldn't see it at all. 

For a brief second you considered looking away. Then Dean pulled a shotgun out of the trunk.

You blinked. 

A second shotgun followed by Dean slamming the trunk shut.

That's a little weird.

The two men exchanged another look before heading back to the motel room, neither of them appeared to be in a particularly good mood. Sam ran a hand through his hair and said something you couldn’t hear. Whatever insanity they had going wasn’t your problem. 

You let the curtain fall. The dog settled back into its sleeping position while you climbed beneath the blankets. The motel room fell silent, you debated getting on your phone seeing which of your friends were awake. 

The second you decide to close your eyes a knock comes from the door. You shoot up wide eyed and heart racing. Another knock, three sharp taps.

Slowly, you slide off the bed. Your handgun sat on the nightstand, before wondering too far you grabbed it and slipped it into your waistband. 

Another knock.

“Who is it?”

A pause.

“Its your friendly motel neighbor”

You stared at the door and let a beat pass.

“My name’s Dean.”

You cracked the door open slightly. He just stood there on the other side with his hands shoved into his pockets with a grin stretched on his face.

“Hi there”

“What do you want?”

His hand pressed to his heart, wounded by your words. “Ouch”

“I just wanted to stop by, I saw you uh, saw you through your window”

“Oh.”

“I just wanted to give you a little explanation” he chuckled, running his hand on the back of his neck.

“Didn’t ask for one.” 

“Are you always so friendly?” He cocked his eyebrow up examining you up and down.

“Well , my brother and I are actually on a hunting trip. We needed to uh– clean some of our stuff before we set out tomorrow” 

You looked him up and down.

Leather jacket?

Worn jeans?

And boots that looked like they’d seen a few alley fights?

You looked back up "Where's your camo, Mr. Hunter,” 

Dean's grin grew and he winked, “Can’t give away my disguise too early.”

You stared and he stared back, neither of you broke. 

“That's a terrible answer.” you shrug, “well Dean, nice to meet you and goodbye. I have a long trip ahead of me.”

“Well uh, I uh, hope you and fido over there make it safely, sweetheart.” 

You opened your mouth. Then I closed it. The sincerity caught you off guard.

“Well…Thanks”

Dean nodded and you pointed back towards your room.”I think I'm gonna go now.”

He remained in the walkway, hands shoved into his pockets. 

“Sleep tight.” 

You rolled your eyes stepping back into your room, locking the deadbolt on the door.

You’d met enough men in your life to recognize a charmer when you saw one. That easy smile and confidence. A player, you could smell it from a mile away. 

For the first time in days, you slept. 

Instead of waking up to the birds chirping and the sunshine on your face, you wake to Murphy barking at the bottom of the bed, still laying by your feet. 

You groaned into your pillow, another bark, “Murph, please,” then another. The dog launched himself off the bed and ran straight for the motel window, front paws on the windowsill. You stumbled up, checking the lock on the door before peeling back the curtains on the window. Several other motel guests stood outside their rooms watching the unfolding commotion, red and blue lights bounced across the motel parking lot.

Police crawled everywhere, an ambulance stood at the far end of the building, your stomach dropped, what the fuck happened? 

Standing near a cluster of officers were Sam and Dean, except they weren't dressed like hunters anymore, they were dressed like cops. Their whole outfit was so believable, the dark suits, the white shirts, even the fake gold badges that hung on their belt looked real. Dean was talking to another officer while Sam jotted some notes down like he was actually working. 

Five minutes passed and you were dressed and headed outside, the parking lot buzzed, officers and people swarming outside, from the looks of it something gruesome probably happened.

Dean spotted you immediately, his eyes torn from the officer in front of him but lips still carried in conversation. His expression shifted just slightly like he had already known what you were about to ask. 

You march straight toward him.

 Sam looks up at you from his notepad first, the second he spotted you his eyebrows rose. “Officer,” You called sweetly, “Could I speak to you for’a second?”

Dean’s eyes closed. Not for very long but long enough to tell you everything you needed to know, he was busted. Sam went back to looking down at his notepad, suspiciously interested in whatever he’d been writing. Coward.

Dean excused himself from whatever conversation he was having with the uniformed officer before turning to you, a forced smile across his face. 

“Mornin’, sweetheart.”

“No.”

His smile twitched, “No?”

You pointed to his fake badge hanging from his belt, “what happened to the hunting trip?”

Dean glanced down at the badge, then back to you.

“Hunting trips still on.”

“You are literally dressed a police offi-”

He raised a finger up, “Uhm im actually a detective.” You stared at him, “That's worse, actually.”

For the first time, his smile cracked, just long enough for a laugh to escape from him. You grabbed the sleeve of his suit jacket and pulled him a few feet away from the crowd, not enough to look suspicious but far enough so nobody would overhear. Dean allowed it, far too amused with himself to protest being yanked around by a woman.

“Wat are you doing?” you hissed.

“What does it look like I'm doing?”

“Commiting several felonies,” You shook your head “You're not a cop.”

“No.”

“You’re not a detective”

“Nope.”

You pointed back to the ambulance, “Dean, what happened.” His smile disappeared immediately,“They uh- they found a girl dead. Said some sort of animal got to her.”

You looked toward the ambulance, the coroner, the yellow tape, suddenly all of it felt very real. Your chest went cold, like every molecule of air in your lungs turned to ice, Dean saw it happen, he saw the shift in you.

“You knew.” You take a half step back and point between the two brothers. Dean rubbed a hand down his face, “Oh boy.”

“You both knew somebody was going to die.”

“We did not.” His voice is deep, intimidating, almost demanding to be the truth. 

“I heard you,” his jaw clicked,” I heard you through the wall”.

That got his attention. For the first time all morning, Dean didn't look smug, he looked concerned, maybe a smidge unnerved, not at himself, but for what you’d overheard.

“Sweetheart-”

“Quit calin’ me that.”

Sam had joined beside his brother so quietly it nearly made you jump back, his eyes moved between the two of you, “What happened?”

Dean signed, “She heard us man.” Sam's face fell, not annoyed, not angry, but horrified, like he knew the gravity of what he just pulled you into. The reaction caught you off guard, you expected denial, maybe even a halfway decent excuse, instead Sam looked at Dean. 

“What?” you asked.

“You heard us?” Sam ran a hand through his hair, the motion was nervous, a little clumsy. 

“Come inside.” Before you could object, Dean grabbed your wrist and started steering you from the growing crowd, Sam was already ahead of you, heading for their motel room.

“Hey-”

“Trust me.”

“I don’t”

The whole thing happened so fast you barely had time to process it, one second you were arguing with a fake cop now your locked in their room?

The room looked like a tornado hit, beds unmade, clothes everywhere, several newspaper clippings spread across a table and a map covered in handwriting.

 And then your eyes landed on the ammunition, the boxes of bullets, loose shells, knives just thrown around and the shotgun leaning against the wall.

You stopped, you pointed to the table,”Those are alot of bullets.”

“Average amount actually.”

You pointed to the shotgun 

“Thats a gun.”

“Correct.”

You looked around the room, clothes, weapons, maps, newspaper clippings, none of this indicative of a hunting trip.

“What exactly are you hunting?”

Neither brother answered, that was your first clue, your eyes narrowed on them. “You know what?” You pointed to the door “No.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, bewilderment on their faces. You turn toward sam, finger up in accusation. “You.”

Sam's face looked alarmed, his hands rising up in defense.

“You saw something last night, didn’t you?”

The room fell into silence, the deadly kind of silence, Dean's jaw tightening and Sam was a deer in headlights.

And just like that, you knew you were on the right path. You finally got a reaction. 

“I know you did.”

No you didn’t. But they didn’t know that

Their realization sat funny in your stomach, the feeling churning around and around, you remembered everything. You remembered how he dropped the ice bucket, how his face twisted up, how the brothers argued through the wall. 

Slowly, you walk between them, “What the hell is goin’ on.”

An hour later, you were sitting in a chair pulled from the corner of the room with a half finished cheap beer in your hand. The brothers were occupying the bed, their own beers in hand, Dean lounged across the bed like he owned the place and Sam sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

Neither of them looked thrilled about the current topic, and safe to say, you weren't either.

“So let me get this straight,” you said, taking a swig of your beer. “You aren't cops.”

“Nope,” Dean answered.

“Not hunters?”

Sam and Dean winced, “Well…”

“You literally told me you were hunting deer.” You pointed you beer at Dean, what a fucking liar. 

“No sweetness, I just said hunting trip.” Dean looked offended, like he knew what you were thinking. Sam snorted into his bottle, you looked at him directing all your attention onto him. “Sam, since this is so lighthearted, what exactly are you fucking hunting.”

Sam looks at Dean, a ‘Save me brother’ kind of look. Dean looked away immediately, suddenly fascinated by the verbiage on the beer bottle in his hand. “The bad stuff…” Sam says. 

You scoffed, Sam deflated, the answer sounded weak, even to him. 

You frowned, Sam was looking anywhere but you. The table, his beer, Dean, anywhere. Your stare continued, wide-eyed and expectant, "That's not an answer, Sam.” The use of his name made him grimace. Sam just rubbed his hand over his face. “Look, you just wouldn’t believe us.”

You immediately leaned forward. “Try me.”

“No.” Sam barked.  The first time this man ever spoke with an opinion, quietly shocking you back into your seat. 

“Sam, please.” 

“No.”

“Sammy, just tell me.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer, the look sam shot you could have killed, you just smiled sweetly. Beside him, Dean looked entirely too entertained by this conversation. 

“Your enjoying this.”

“Maybe a little” he shrugged. 

“You suck.”

“Been told that before.”

You pointed between both of the brothers. “You guys know what's happening.”

The amusement was suddenly sucked from the air. “Tell me what's happening.” 

Dean’s eyes flickered towards his brother, “We try to stop things…bad things.” Dean sat up from the bed, walking over to your chair, he placed the beer between your legs and crouches in front of you. The room felt smaller, quieter. 

For the first time since meeting him, there was no joke swirling in his eyes, no teasing, no grin, just seriousness. “The things we hunt, want to hurt people…These things, aren’t human.” He paused. Your eyes drifted to Sam, the taller brother looked just as serious.

“That's not possible.” You shook your head, eyes stinging. “Your fucking with me aren’t you.” You laugh, this is all a game isn't it? That's all you can think, this isn't happening.

Neither of them argued with you. 

“You're not joking are you?” Dean shakes his head, eyes still watching you. 

You hated yourself for asking but you needed to know. “If these things aren’t human…”

Your voice came out quieter this time, you hated it, how weak you sounded. “What are they?”

“Depends.”

“What the fuck do you mean it depends?”

“Ghosts…Witches…Demons…Vampires…”

Your mouth hung open, “Vam-Vampires..”

Dean nodded.

“You’re serious.”  

Dean held your gaze, no grin, no teasing, no nothin’.

That evening, you start to regret asking questions. Back in your room it was quiet, Murphy was sprawled out on the bed bedside you, his head resting on your hip while you picked at your food.

Whatever cheesy soap television show was playing was useless, your attention remained on the beer bottle sitting on the nightstand. The words Dean told you keep circling in your head, maybe because you're a little drunk but partly because you can’t believe what you're hearing. Ghosts, Demons and vampires are real. These monsters are real and they hurt people. 

You rubbed your eyes. “Nope. Not thinking about it.” Murphy lifted his head and huffed.

Your phone buzzed, a text from a new number. 

Dean:

You still alive?

You stared at the text. Before you left for your room, both brothers insisted on you saving their numbers, Dean being a little pushy saying it was just because of the girl who got murdered down the building. Sure it was.

A second message followed.

Dean:

I heard that damn dog barking.

And a third.

Dean:

Anyway. You doing okay?

The concern was genuine, which felt annoying, you couldn’t pin where or why it felt like he was doing it to save his own ass. How are you even supposed to answer that? 

Hi Dean! Thanks for letting me know demons are hunting people!

You:

I'm doing good. Murphy’s just passionate about soap operas. 

You:

Thanks for the beers. Might need another. 

Dean: 

I thought you were leaving.

You looked at your duffle, at Murphy, poor baby was exhausted. Road trips were not his favorite. 

You:

Dog’s tired.

For a beat there was nothing, just murphy huffing and the television going. 

Dean:

Yeah. That’s definitely why.

You:

Going to bed, Dean

Dean:

Night, Sweetheart.

You caught yourself staring at the screen, just for a moment before locking your phone and tossing it to the nightstand. 

Murphy took notice, immediately climbed halfway on top of you, the giant dog settling his head across your stomach with a huff. “Big baby.”

Within minutes the television blended into background, the motel grew quiet, and eventually despite ghosts, demons, dead girls and weird brothers next door - 

You fell asleep. 

BANG. 

BANG.

Your eyes flew open, for a second you didn't know where you were, Murphy was already standing.

BANG.

Something was slamming on the motel door, hard, you shot up immediately reaching for your gun and phone. Another hard crash rattled the door frame. “What the-”

Murphy exploded to a bark, a protective, rumbling bark. 

BANG. 

BANG. 

BANG.

The doorknob started to twist violently side to side. Someone was trying to get in. Panic and fear flooded your veins. 

“Murphy.”

The dog didn't listen, he stood his ground barking at the door, like he was capable of defending this room with his life

“Dammit you dog.” You grabbed the dog by the collar, dragging him toward the bathroom, the dog resisted, “MURPHY!”

That time he listened. 

Barely.

The small bathroom suddenly felt air-tight between you and the sixty-five pounds of fur squeezed beside you. Crash after crash echoed into the motel room, tears caked your face, you are not going out this way. Absolutely not. 

With trembling fingers, you locked the bathroom door, immediately pulling out your phone. The call barely rang once.

“Where are you?”

“Someone is breaking in.”

Silence.

And more silence

“Dean, PLEA-”

“Stay where you are. I'm coming.”

The only guiding light through this was Murphy, the mutt you adopted years ago. Despite being sixty-five pounds of drool and fur, he was your best friend. He’d been through it all with you. He was there through the screaming matches, through the nights of sleeping in your car, through every kick and punch.

Sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night just to find the dog stretched across the bedroom floor, positioned between you and the bedroom door like a barricade, poor pup tried. 

He watched and he guarded. He reminded you that there was always one thing to love you without conditions. Which is hilarious, considering Murphy looked intimidating as hell. Most people saw the shepherd mix and crossed the street. 

You saw the puppy who wanted to be tucked into your sheets during the winter and didnt like to step on wet grass.

Driving from Odessa to Chicago was no small feat, and unfortunately for your, the trip had just begun. 

Just four hours ago you were throwing your entire life into the backseat. You hadn’t exactly left with a plan. Now you were somewhere in North Texas, inching closer to the Oklahoma border with a dog in the passenger seat and absolutely no idea what your life would look like in a week from now. 

It should have terrified you.

Maybe it did.

But every mile that appeared in your rearview felt a little lighter than the one before it. 

The radio crackled, filling the car with a burst of static before cutting out completely.. "Of course! Just what I was wanting to happen." You smacked the steering dashboard. Nothing. You smacked it again. Still nothing. Murphy picked his head up from the passenger seat, watching you with a tilted head, "Don't judge me.” His ears went up. With a sigh, you reached over and switched the radio off entirely. The silence was somehow worse. At least the static had been something. Now all you had was the steady hum of the engine, the occasional rattle from somewhere in the backseat, and your own thoughts were so determined to be the loudest thing in the car.

The road stretched endlessly ahead of you, surrounded by fields that seemed to go on forever. Darkness swallowed everything beyond your headlights, leaving nothing but empty highways and the occasional road sign to remind you civilization still existed. There wasn't another car in sight. Then you gas light came on. You just stared right at it, “No”. the little orange light remained illuminated. “No, no, no.” As if arguing with the machinery would somehow make it disappear. The dashboard, unfortunately, wasn’t interested in negotiations. You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. “Dont do this to me.” You let out a frustrated groan. You glanced back at the gas gauge and immediately regretted it.The needle was hanging on for dear life.You were running on fumes, blind optimism, and whatever prayers your grandmother had taught you as a kid."Okay," you muttered, sitting up a little straighter. "That's fine. Totally fine."

It was not fine.

Not even a little.

By the time you were able to make out what appeared to be a gas station, your engine was sputtering every few minutes and your gauge had been in the red for about 30 miles.Your road map wasn’t much help anymore either. Somewhere between Odessa and wherever the hell you were now, it had become covered in coffee stains, crumpled corners and muddy paw prints courtesy of Murphy. At this point, your best course of action was prayer. And maybe a little luck. 

The gas station slowly came into focus as you pulled off the highway. The building looked ancient, illuminated by a handful of flickering lights. You rolled into your pump and killed the engine. The sudden silence was almost deafening. For a moment, neither you or Murphy moved. Then you look across the car at him and he looks back, you sigh and grab your purse, “Okay Murph, please protect the car. Its a very important job” His tail thumps on the leather seat. Leaning over, you pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head before climbing out of the car.

You glanced toward the gas station and silently prayed there was something inside worth eating. You wandered aimlessly through the tiny gas station, dragging your feetin down each aisle as you searched for something that could remotely qualify as dinner. Your stomach growled, loudly. At this point Murphy’s dog food was starting to sound appetizing. With a sigh, you made your way over to the hot food station, if you can even call it that. The ancient roller grill spun beneath a heat lamp that looked older than you. A handful of hot dogs rotated endlessly while several corn dogs sat beside them, looking like they;d been in rotation since the Clinton administration. 

You stared at the selection. The selection stared back.

“Wow”

A hot dog or a corn dog. How nutritious. How balanced. How absolutely terrible. The hot dog won. Mostly because it looked less likely to kill you. You grabbed a pair of tongs and inspected it suspiciously. 

“Congratulations,” you mutter to yourself. “You’ve officially hit rock bottom.” The hot dog, thankfully, offered no opinion. You dropped it into a paper tray and headed toward the register.

“Hey, Hon. Whatcha lookin’ for?” the older gentlemen behind the counter looked up from a crossword puzzle, glasses perched low on his nose. You answered with a shrug. You set your hot dog on the counter, going back to the cold freezers for some water and a coke. “You don't happen to have any maps, do ya?” The man chuckled. “Maps? Now there’s somethin’ I haven’t heard somebody ask for in a while” He bent down behind the counter and rummaged through a drawer. “Course I got maps. Where ya headed?”

“Chicago, I think.” The cashier let out a low whistle. “Chicago?” you nodded in response, ”Thats’a long drive” Something about the old man reminded you of your dad. Maybe it was the concern in his voice, the deep set eyes or mauve the way he looked worried instead of judgmental. Either way it made your heart ache. “I'd be careful out there in I were you,” the man slid a folded road map across the counter.

“Well,” you said, lifting up the hem of your shirt, barely enough to show your small black handgun tucked into your waistband, “my daddy made sure his only child had some protection”. The cashier nodded approvingly, “Smart man.” The man behind the register shook his head in approval, “Total’s $6.12, girlie”. You handed over the cash, gathered your map, drinks and hot dog. As he handed over the receipt, his expression was soft. “Whatever’s waiting for you up there,” he said softly “ I hope it' s kinder than whatever you're leavin’ behind.”

For a moment the air felt thick. You had forgotten about your face, the bruise that's slowly taking over your left cheek. You just nodded. 

“Me too”

Instantly, the summer air hit you. Thick and swampy. The parking lot wasn't empty anymore, you in your accord, a black sleek car and a rusty van all gathered. You make your way to your accord, trying to balance the drinks while managing to fish your keys out of your pocket. The second the doors unlocked, a large head popped up from the passenger seat, "There's my good boy” You let Murphy out, letting him stretch his legs trusting him to still remain by you. 

You poured him some water in a makeshift bowl you made out of a saucepan you found while you were throwing all of your belongings into your car. You set the water down and scratched behind his ears, then focused your attention on the gas pump. The nozzle had set in place. You barely had started pumping when the side of the van slid open. Three men climbed out, the immediate sensation of your hair standing up and shoulders tensing puts your nervous system into over-drive. “Well look’it over here” You kept your eyes locked on the gas pump, why can't these things go faster? Another one of the men laughed, “You look a little far from home, ain’t ya?” You ignored them. You would rather die than give any men like them a lick of attention. Years of being a woman taught you a lot of things, one of them being that usually no response, is the best response. Apparently, they didn't appreciate that. 

They inched closer, so close you can smell the cigarettes and cheap beer leaking from their clothes. The one closest to you narrowed his eyes at you “Jesus.” You stiffened, Murphy attending your side, eyes locked on all three men. He pointed at your face, “What the hell got ahold of you?” 

Instinctively, your hand traced your cheek. The bruises had faded from the angry fist print to a bruise beginning to form. Your left cheek was already swollen, you can feel heat radiating on the side. The question alone made your stomach turn, not because of them asking but from how interested they seemed.

You dropped your hand, “Mind your fuckin’ business.” The first man held up his hands. “Sorry lady, just askin’” you cross your arms, leaning on your car. “Then stop.”

For a split second you recognized his facial expression, you learned it long ago, the kind when a man wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted. “Feisty bitch.” he muttered. Another one laughed, “maybe thats how she got the black eye.”

Murphy jumped up from sitting onto all four paws, a low growl penetrated from his chest. The men all shifted their gaze to him “Aw thats cute” and the three men laughed, “Damn dog thinks its so scary.”

You shift your weight in your heels, “I would be careful y’know.” Your grip on the gas handle gets tighter and tighter. “My dog bites.” You said evenly, trying to be unaffected.  Murph’s ears go flat, another deeper, more threatening growl rumbled. The tallest man took a step towards the car, immediately Murphy lunged at him, he would have bit the poor man if he wasn't so glued to your hip. Dog would never leave your side. “Jesus Christ” all three men take a few steps back.

"Yeah," you said dryly. “I told you he bites.” The tallest man, who had previously tried to take a step towards you twitched his head, “you mouthy fuckin’ female.” your stomach twisted, you hated that sentence, that tone, the cocky-ness. All of it just reminded you of the horror movie you just ran from. “Why are you alone anyways? Pretty thing like you, with nobody to watch you.” he licks his lips. As if being alone pumping gas was some kind of invitation.

You looked away to the gas pump, focusing solely on the numbers climbing up. Almost done, almost at a full tank. Then you can get the hell out of here. 

“She’s not alone.” the voice came from somewhere beside you, all three of those men turned around, facing the accusation.You looked between the gas pump and the trio to see the black car you’d taken note of earlier. Two men were standing outside of it now.

One was tall, really freakishly tall, shaggy flat hair that pressed down to his brow. He held a bottle of water in one hand and was staring daggers through each of the men in front of you, thoroughly unimpressed.

The other one, leaning so casually against the drivers side door, blondish hair and green eyes sporting a leather jacket. He was relaxed, like he couldn’t care less about this situation at all.

“Murphy, get.” 

You swing the driver's side door open, and Murphy immediately obeyed, assuming his position in the front seat. The second he was settled, the dog planted himself behind the wheel, ears pinned and teeth bared through the window. The tallest man scoffed, finally taking a step back from your car. His attention shifted past you and toward the two strangers standing near the black impala. “And who the hell are you?” he asked.

“Sam.” the taller one answered, so matter of fact, so simple. 

The men looked between themselves, “yeah, and what about you?” chin gesturing to the driver.

“Dean.” The driver said, smiling. 

Something about the way he said it made it sound like you were supposed to know him instead of complete strangers standing in a gas station parking lot.. Judging by the confused look on the other man's face, y'all were total strangers. Dean whistled dramatically, “Yeesh, alright i think it's pretty obvious our friend here wants nothin’ to with y’all. Now go.”

His green eyes flickered towards you for a second, just long enough for your spine to be on fire. He looked back at the trio. 

He saw it, the bruises. The bright lights above the gas pumps were definitely not doing your face any favors.

“I think y'all should do everyone a favor and get back in your van.” He dipped his head and adjusted his stance on the car, standing up fully.

“Or what?”

Dean’s smile sharpened, not enough to be threatening but enough to make you think it wouldn’t be a hard switch to turn on. Dean tilted his head towards your car. Murphy immediately lets out a string of barks, deep and throaty. “Or he gets a chance to properly introduce himself.” Murphy punctuated that statement with a bark that echoed in the lot. The trio of men lingered before finally backing off, “Whatever” the tallest one muttered. Dean nodded,”good choice.”

The van doors slammed shut one after another, the engine roaring to life as the vehicle pulled out of the station. You didn't realize just how tense you had gotten until those particular taillights disappeared down the highway. The parking lot fell into silence again, Murphy let out a grumble as he made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. 

“Y’know that dog thinks he just saved your life.” Dean chuckled. You spin towards him. Dean had moved closer to you, sliding his hands into his leather jacket. Somehow relaxed, not a single indicator of being fresh out of a confrontation. “He did save my life,” you smile. Dean just raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips together. “No, I'm pretty sure all he did was yell.”

“Suprised a man like you doesn't know intimidation is a skill.” Your head sits cocked to the side.  The gas pump clicked, signaling your tank was finally full. A filthy grin spread on his face, “Trust me, sweetheart, I know.” Sam groaned from across the car, rolling his eyes “Here we go.”

You couldn't help the laugh that slipped but looking down at the total of your gas bill you winced, forty-two dollars. Bye-Bye the rest of your gas budget. With a sigh, you face back to Dean and Sam. “Are you really driving all the way to Chicago?” Dean asked, watching you. Eyebrows raised “How’d you know that?” 

“Cashier talks.” 

You groaned, “Yeah, of course he does.” Dean grins even wider, "that's one hell of a drive,” he walks his way around to you, closing the distance between yall, “You're not driving alone, are you?” You nodded. His expression changed for a slight moment, a short flash of concern. But replaced quickly just as soon as it appeared. “That’s one hell of a drive.” Sam shifted his weight and offered a small smile, first time the kid looked at you in the eyes, “yeah, tell me about it.” Sam gestured towards Murphy. “Well uh, least you got him.” 

You shook your head.”Yeah” you said smiling looking over your shoulder at your boy. “Hes not exactly incognito.” Dean laughed and flashed his teeth. You could tell what kind of man he was, a charmer. A man used to getting everything he wants handed to him. Something about these boys seemed dangerous. 

As you tossed your map onto the dash, you noticed out of the corner of your eye the men standing up straight. Sam’s phone was ringing. Sam glanced at the small screen before passing a look to Dean.

Someone serious must have called. Dean sighed, “Damn it,” Neither one of the two looked amused. Whatever they had going on clearly wasn’t something they shared with strangers, so when you looked back, Dean was already climbing into the drivers side but he paused. “Well, Chicago.” You frowned. “My name isn’t Chicago.” Dean just smirked. “I think it suits you.”

Before you could stand any sort of protest, he slipped into the car. Seconds later the car's engine screamed alive, Sam gave you a small wave and a smile before climbing into the passenger seat before peeling out of the station and disappearing onto the highway. 

Only when the headlights became faint little twinkles did you climb into your Accord. Murphy immediately shoved his head onto the arm rest. You gave him a big pat on the butt and started your engine. You looked toward the empty highway.

As you drive, you relax. The pain of your cheek and eye throbbed. The warmth of the bruise stretching across your face. 

Thats all you could feel as you passed through the deserted highway. You adjusted your grip on the wheel. Just twenty-four hours ago, you were in your apartment. You were coming home from work. Murphy was waiting by the door. You knew every pothole, every streetlight, every short cut. Now, that was all in your rearview mirror.

Just keep driving.

The words repeated in your brain like a prayer.

Just keep driving. 

You had your plan: Chicago, apartment, fresh start. That was all you needed. A city where nobody knew you. An apartment where nobody could hurt you. A life without living on egg-shells. The bruise on your face throbbed. The bruises hidden beneath your clothes hurt worse. 

You swallowed hard. 

No. You couldn't do this. 

The second your mind drifts back to him, back to your ex, you immediately try to show those thoughts away. You weren’ t doing this tonight, especially when you're driving at 85 miles per hour on the darkest stretch of highway. You’d spent enough nights crying over him. Enough nights curled up in bed wondering why everything hurt so much. Enough nights staring at the ceiling trying to convince yourself that he really didn’t mean to hit you, that he does love you, and somehow he would be different tomorrow.  

Just keep driving. 

Everything hurts. Your back hurts, your neck hurts, and your wallet definitely hurts. Two days after you left Texas, you were beginning to understand the deep hatred people have for road trips.And if you had to eat one more gas station hot dog, you were fairly certain it would send you into the ER. 

Above you the motel sign flickered overhead as you pulled into the parking lot. 

VACANCY!

One of the letters buzzed more aggressively than the others, threatening to give up at any moment. The perfect establishment a woman traveling alone should be staying in! “Oh, don't look at me like that,” Murphy glanced up from the passenger seat.”You don't get an opinion. You didn't have to spend forty-three dollars on gas today.” His tail thumped against the seat.

The motel itself wasn’t better than the sign. A long row of identical doors stretched across the building, each one painted a faded shade of blue. The parking lot was half empty, illuminated by the buzzing yellow lights. This whole place looked sick but still, a bed and shower. Standards were rock bottom. 

Twenty minutes later, your standing inside room fourteen. Murphy immediately claiming the bed nearest the window, the entire bed. The oversized shepherd mix spun in three circles before going onto his back. “Thats my bed.” Murphy stops, turning over to look at you, tail wagging. “Move” you pointed towards the second bed, “That one is literally empty.” Murphy just rested his head on his paws. Conversation over.

Somehow the motel room looked exactly how you;d expected, the floral comforters, questionable artwork, a television that only works on two of the channels. Home sweet home.

After grabbing some clothes and dog food from the car, you were finally able to shower. The motel bathroom wasnt much to look at, cracked tiles and a mirror with a weird ring of brown around it. For twenty glorious minutes, you stood beneath the steaming water and let it wash away two days worth of road grime, sweat and exhaustion.

Your eyes drifted toward the mirror.

The bruising on your cheek had started to fade-ish. Yellow, purple, and green stretched across the left side of your face like someone had taken a paintbrush to your skin. The swelling had gone down some, but it was still there. Still visible, still a reminder. 

You looked away, putting your oversized hoodie and sleep shorts before stepping back into the motel room. Murphy was already waiting by the door. The second he saw you his tail was thumping against the carpet. You huffed, “Fine.”

Ten minutes go by and you found yourself wandering across the motel parking lot while Murphy sniffed every square inch of grass he could find.

The motel wasn't exactly bustling with energy, a few scattered cars, a flickering neon sign and the sounds of a television from someone's window. You shoved your hands deeper into your hoodie pocket, then froze.

A black car sat parked three doors down. You stared at it. The longer you looked at it the more familiar it felt. Black paint, chrome and a long body. 

“What the hell?” Murphy lifted his head while you stood and stared at the car ,then the motel, then the car again. "Looks familiar don'it?"

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄: …𝐶𝑂𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑆𝑂𝑂𝑁!

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐗: …𝐶𝑂𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑆𝑂𝑂𝑁!

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: …𝐶𝑂𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑆𝑂𝑂𝑁!

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓: …𝐶𝑂𝑀𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝑆𝑂𝑂𝑁!