#* dean.

the evening is warm and sweet, the kind of heat that lingers inside after a long day, pleasant and soft on her skin. western music fills the background, alongside the clinking of glasses and murmured conversations of men, accompanied by the occasional louder shout of laughter. she sticks out like a sore thumb in this crowd: too beautiful, too young, too womanly. but the town is quiet, the people friendly, and there's work to be done. it's all she needs.

the sound of a barstool pulling up next to her. a man sits down, tall, clad in a leather jacket, smelling faintly of the beer he's holding in his hand. when he looks over at her, she's taken aback by the beautiful clear green of his eyes, his long lashes, the sharp angle of his jaw; she seldom sees men so startlingly pretty. he reminds her of apollo. elia quickly looks down and away. he looks like trouble.

moment's pause, a drink put in front of her. elia looks back up in surprise, but the bartender – simon, she's already learned – points at the stranger. elia follows the gesture, eyes sweeping over his face, his figure. tempting. she gives a smile and small nod of acknowledgement, lifts her glass to clink against his beer bottle. “ alright. give it your best shot. what did i do to deserve a drink ? why am i going home with you tonight ? ” she waits, expects the usual cheesy you're beautiful, just for being an angel, does a man need a reason to buy a lady a drink ? perhaps even a stuttered reply. instead, she is hit with the bold i only sleep well when you're next to me.

elia stares at him in surprise, then finds herself laughing, hand moving to brush a strand of hair out of her face. “ wow. pretty out there. does that ever work ? ” she already knows the answer by the fact she's still talking to him. “ i'm ellie. ”

hand reaches to gently shut the lid. green eyes linger on dean. “ i know you want to save them. but you can't help anyone if you're falling apart, dean. you have to eat something, you have to sleep. ” elia playfully taps his chin, though a rueful smile dances on her lips. she's asking the impossible from a winchester. she leans in, softly places a kiss at his hairline. even his warm breath against her throat feels tired, jagged with withheld sleep. “ sleep. i'll be here looking to see if i can find anything until you wake, okay ? ”

there was a time when she had been considered not just the prettiest, but by far the most patient of artemis' nymphs. she is hundreds, thousands of years older now, has suffered through disasters and wars, seen civilizations rise and fall. she has endured it all with serenity. yet five minutes alone with dean winchester is enough to drive her to the brink of madness.

she huffs in irritation, abruptly turns to face him and tell him off. as always, she is rebuffed by his handsome face; a symmetry and beauty that divine creatures like her cannot help but be drawn to. " it's a doe. just a doe. when they're something else, you'll know. trust me. i had golden antlers and bronze hooves. "

they move on, side by side. he is good at tracking, she realizes to her surprise; silent, observant, his green eyes occaesionally catching something she herself missed. he and his brother must do it often, this hunting. she briefly reflects on what may have happened if the winchesters had decided she was a monster rather than an asset, then brushes it off quickly. that's not a path she wants to go down.

low voice sounds again, though more hushed this time. " hang on, does that bird look like it wants to attack us ? "

for a split second elia wonders if he is trying on purpose to get on her nerves, before she realizes what he is looking at: a giant bird with silver, metallic plumage, leering at them from a branch with beady, intelligent eyes. breath catches in her throat. slowly, elia takes a step closer to him, then lowers her bow to the ground. " no sudden movements. that's a stymphalian bird. you scare it, that may be the last thing you do. its feathers are made of steel. don't shoot it, you may just kill us both. or well- just you. i may very well still be immortal. "

elia is still catching her breath, head bent, a hand clutching at her ribs. her heart pounds in her chest. she can taste her nerves in her mouth, metallic, like sick, like blood. never before have they had so close a call — there were simply more of them than either of them had expected. it was like they had come out of nowhere.

i was bitten. her head snaps up at those words, heart coming to a standstill. for a second she waits, hoping he will tell her it’s some sick joke, but the expression on his face tells her exactly what she dreads. green eyes sweep his broad figure, coming to rest on a bloom of red on his shaking left hand. fuck. it’s unmistakable: marred flesh, the mark of teeth on his palm. at least two, maybe three bites. it got him good.

i dont think i will make it.

❛  MR. SMITH?   ❜    soft,  chocolate tendrils fall over the girl’s shoulders as she rises from her chair in tentative greeting,  eyes darting up to meet the mogul’s gaze.  the thought crosses her mind that he’s the only man in the building so tall that she must CRANE HER NECK to look at him,  and she has to clear her throat before she can bring herself to utter any words at all,  tainted as they are by her light french lilt.    ❛   i’m here for the secretary job?  ❜