what have you borne?

The dock is disgusting, the rusty boat only marginally better. Rowena makes her opinion known, and is repeatedly and resolutely ignored, because no Winchester has even a lick of class. It’s gratifying that when Dean bangs on the door it is opened only enough for Rowena to briefly see a frowning face, then slammed shut again, with a series of clunks suggesting heavy bolts. 

“Kevin! Come on, open up!” Dean calls, banging on the door again.

“Fuck off and die.” Is the impassioned, somewhat muffled reply. “And it’s not Kevin anymore.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m not talking to you through a door.”

“Good! Leave!”

“Is this how all your allyships end?” Rowena inquires, pleasantly, “I can see why you’re beaten so often.”

“Shut up,” Dean grouses, then, back to the door, “Come on, Kev. There’s a hot chick out here. I could help you score.” He glances back at Rowena with an I’m trying anything shrug, and Rowena allows it, because she does like being called hot. It’s accurate, as well as an ego boost. 

“Like I need your help. You haven’t gotten laid in 5 years.” 

“No, I haven’t! I mean, I have. It’s only been,” Dean starts muttering and counting on his fingers, his expression getting increasingly worried, and Rowena takes this as her cue to step in, because otherwise they’re going to be there all day.

“Oh, wow!” She calls out loudly, “Could this be the anchor? I wonder what would happen if it completely unravelled? Shall we get lost out to sea with Dean Winchester?”

“Good luck, it’s welded in. And there’s no wind.”

“It’d be a pity for you if I was a powerful witch, then, wouldn’t it?”

There’s a pause, then the clunks start up again, until the door is reopened, revealing a tall asian woman, her long hair matted, her skirt wrinkled, and her arms folded. She has dark bags under her eyes, and thick brows furrowed over them. She couldn’t be older than 25, but she gives off a vibe of having seen too much of the world, and being thoroughly over all of it. Although, that might be the Dean-Winchester-Effect.

“It’s Dra, now,” The woman says, looking over Rowena’s head to scowl at the offending Dean. “Druh, like Cassan-druh, D-R-A. Dra.”

“That’s not a real name,” Dean says, and Dra’s withering look is pretty hot. Maybe this little excursion won’t be quite as annoying and pointless as Rowena had thought.

“What do you want, Dean?” 

“It’s just a little Tablet work- no, no wait, hear me out!” Dra had started closing the door again, but Dean holds up the rattling plastic sack of amphetamine pills temptingly, and the noise of them stills her. “If you held us, you can get a little candy.”

“If I help you, I’ll need more than that,” Dra says, but she pushes the door open and walks away. Dean follows her, and doesn’t hold the door for Rowena, because he was raised in a barn. Rowena graciously raises her chin to the disrespect and glides in. She’s practically a saint, these days.

The inside of the boat is much more pleasant than the outside, but it still wouldn’t be featured in any home decor magazines. Empty cans line most surfaces - cheap beer and energy drinks - and the smell of unwashed laundry permeates the small space. Dra’s bed is visible through one of the open doors, unmade with musty-looking gray sheets.

“What’s with the skirt?” Dean asks, because he’s an idiot, and Rowena’s sigh overlaps with Dra’s huff.

“Why do you think, idiot?” Dra asks, and Rowena shakes her head in sympathy.

“What does a woman have to do?”

That gets Dra’s attention on her, giving her a calculating sweep from head to toe. Then she smirks, a challenging look coming into her eyes. “You the hot chick?”

“Try the most powerful witch in, hm, let’s call it just under 200 million square miles.”

“The whole Earth?” Dra says, drifting closer, “Impressive.”

“Save the spray bottle, Chanel,” Dean interjects, from where he’s been unpacking the little pill bottles, “Rowena’s part demon, but holy water just makes her make-up run.” 

“And there are better ways to make that happen,” Rowena flirts, letting her mouth run to recalibrate her assessment of Dra from harmless to sneaky, as the spray-bottle she’d been concealing drops to the floor behind her. Dra is unapologetic about the attempted threat, and unflustered by the attempted flirtation, keeping a steady, unwavering look down into Rowena’s cleavage.

“It’s just six pages,” Dean is saying, waving the copies they got done from a book at the local library, “One-sided. It’ll take you, what, a week?”

“If you want it done in a week, I’ll need more pills,” Dra says, not looking around. Rowena subtly stretches her arms behind her back, pushing her tits out. She gets a flash of Dra’s canines in the widening of her grin before she schools herself. 

“Come on,” Dean pleads, “I stopped at every pharmacy from Kansas to here. Civic duty? Fate of the world?”

“Perhaps I can offer some additional support,” Rowena suggests, running her hand delicately up Dra’s arm. She’s got some muscle in there, which Rowena lingers on, squeezing appreciatively. “I can think of some things to keep you from sleeping.”

“Spells?” Dra asks, her voice low, her hand hovering inches away from Rowena’s hip, the anticipation running goosebumps over Rowena’s skin.

“I could do some spells, too.”

A crash disturbs them - Dean has knocked over the little tower of pill bottles he’d been building, and is looking between them, looking fairly disturbed himself. 

“Dude,” Dra says, with resigned despair, and crouches to start picking them up. Dean waves Rowena over with tight hand movements. Rowena rolls her eyes and attends to him.

“Yes, Dean?”

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean demands, at a loud whisper. There’s absolutely no way Dra doesn’t hear every word.

“Getting the pages translated. What are you doing? Besides crashing about the place like a drunk elephant?”

“Rowena! Ke- D- they’re just a kid! Stop - feminine wiles-ing!”

“That didn’t stop you offering me up to her like a piece of meat before. And she certainly looks old enough.”

“I’m 22,” Dra clarifies, depositing the final container back on the table, “and, oh hey Dean, look what else I found.”

She puts up her middle finger over the side of the table, which makes Dean throw a pill bottle back across the room. 

“Asshole.”

“I know you are, but what are-”

“Dean,” Rowena interrupts, before the second hand embarrassment of his come-back can get too much, “Why don’t you go and give your brother a call? Let him know the translation is going ahead? I can finish up here with Dra.” She’s shoo-ing him out the door before he can get another word in, peering around the door for a closing, “I know, I know, I’m too kind. Bye!” 

With a wave of her hand, all seven of Dra’s heavy locks are pulled tight across, and she adds a quick magical ward for good measure.

“Now,” Rowena says, pressing her back to the shut door and staring down Dra hungrily, “Where were we?”

--

It had been a valiant effort from Rowena that first day, but Dra had caught sight of the printed paper as they’d been making out, and her attention was seized, with force. Prophets. Who’d have them. Since then, no matter how provocatively Rowena asserts herself, drapes herself or degrades herself, she can only get half of Dra’s attention for brief spans, if that. She’d thought she’d been doing well to get a hand in her hair as she’d given the messiest head of her life, cramped up under Dra’s table, but then it turned out Dra’s insensible muttering after coming down her throat is just part of the translation process. 

Perhaps it says something about her psyche that she’s obsessively chasing attention that cannot be fully granted, due to the power of God Himself, but she’s a master at halting any burgeoning self reflection in the name of a good time. 

One thing Dra managed to stay focused on her enough to confide that she likes dirty pictures, so whenever Dra really can’t be roused, Rowena’s been filling her phone with as many as she can. Sprawled out on Dra’s dirty bed in only her lingerie, stuffing her mouth with Dra’s girlcock, coming around her own fingers. It isn’t until 2am at the end of the week that she gets to come on anything but her own fingers - she’s rudely and suddenly awoken by Dra climbing on top of her and fucking into her without preamble.

“Bwa?” Rowena says, rocking her hips back in approval.

“Translation’s done,” is Dra’s explanation, along with, “Saw your pictures. You’re a real whore.”

“Och, now, don’t be a brat.”

“I do what I want.” Dra shifts, then there’s a crack and fizz of a can opening, and a cold, fizzy liquid shocks over Rowena’s back, soaking the bed quickly. Dra’s tongue drags along the liquid on her back, which has quickly become sticky. 

“You! Young scoundrel!” Rowena cries, enjoying the outrage, “I’m an important person, you know!”

“Oh, I know. Crowley’s mom, right? And here you’ve been sniffing up my skirt like a bitch in heat.”

The angle of Dra’s next thrust knocks the thoughts out of Rowena’s head for a moment, but she rallies, “You know my Fergus?”

“Know him, hate him, want everything he loves to die. He doesn’t happen to love you, does he?”

A prickle of sharp coldness on her spine, and Rowena doesn’t need telling to know it’s a blade. A delicious thrill of real fear shoots through her body, and she clenches around Dra’s girlcock with a gasp. Harmless, to sneaky, to an active, dangerous threat. Rowena’s going to come so hard. 

“Hates me,” Rowena answers, pitching her voice to a whimper. A mix of truth and her sycophantic-life-drive, “Can’t bear the sight of his dear mother. Sold him for a pig.” 

“Good,” Dra says, and the sharpness is gone, replaced by Dra lying heavily on top of her, grinding and pumping into her at her own whims, taking no care over Rowena’s own arousal. She bites Rowena’s ear, hard, making Rowena whine from deep in her chest. “Mmm. You’re like if a fleshlight was also a hot MILF.”

“I’m going to be Queen of Hell someday,” Rowena counters, even though the degradation makes her even wetter. 

“Queen of pornos. Those pictures! Not that I needed them.”

“No?” Rowena asks, smiling in anticipation of being told something along the lines of ‘you’re so incredibly beautiful, that’s all I need to get off’. It’s not what she gets.

“No. The video cameras will have gotten everything.”

Rowena’s eyes fly open and she tries to push up - “What video cameras?”

She can’t dislodge Dra, though, who’s started fucking into her with purpose, and it’s only a few seconds more until Rowena lets go and comes, and Dra quickly follows. Dra pulls out immediately, and Rowena can hear the familiar artificial shutter of Dra’s phone camera, presumably on the stuff dribbling out of her.

“If you let me roll over I can rub some on my tits,” Rowena suggests, because she’s thoughtful like that, and the camera stops, but Dra doesn’t flip her. Rowena twists her neck awkwardly, trying to get a look at her over her shoulder. “Dra?”

Dra slides off her and lies next to her, staring up at the ceiling. There’s a troubled despondency in her expression that Rowena really wasn’t expecting, given previous events. “That was too much.”

“Well, excuse a girl for some artistic direction-”

“Not you.” The quiet lingers, until Dra flings an arm over her eyes. “Can’t even blame the tablet. Probably gave you a yeast infection from that beer. I’m so fucked in the head.”

Ah. She’s just dropping. Rowena has little patience for the pity-party, but she can’t let such a young talent as Dra wither on the vine. Her life is one of constant giving. And she asks for such little praise. Is there a purer saint in the multiverse?

“Dearie,” Rowena says, blandly, “I’m not one for coddling, but trust me, if I didn’t want it, you’d be dead.”

Dra seems about to voice the disbelief in her expression, so Rowena sighs and intones, “Rah She Fum”. Flames burst out of every surface of the room apart from the bed, lighting Dra’s terrified scramble perfectly. Rowena dispels it as soon as Dra hits the middle of the bed, and transforms the cotton sheets to clean silk ones, while she’s at it. She might do some out-there things for a good fuck, but she’s not sleeping in a puddle of beer, thank you very much.

“See,” Rowena says, smugly, amused by Dra’s dazzled expression. “Now, if that’s over and done with, a future-Queen needs her beauty sleep.”

She rolls onto her back with a pleased sigh, but, peeking up through her lashes, she can still see Dre’s conflicted eyes. She sighs, and opens her arms. “Come on then. Snuggle with Mummy.”

Dre flushes, but she goes, resting her cheek tentatively on Rowena’s breast and relaxing when Rowena wraps her arms around her. Rowena’s almost drifted off to sleep when Dre laughs suddenly.

“I slept with Crowley’s mom.”

“Hmm,” Rowena agrees, petting her hair absently, “If you’re good I’ll introduce you to Dean and Samuel’s mother too.”