#queenmaverick

He knew dating a creature, something that wasn’t human, was going to have some oddities involved.. But he hadn’t expected the dates to be so strange..

Laying in bed with his hands folded behind his head while listening to music, his phone began to vibrate.. If it hadn’t been laying on his chest, he never would’ve noticed with the volume at which he currently had Deep Purple blaring into his ears. As soon as it began to rattle and shake, he sat upright and tugged the buds out of his ears with a little sigh.. So much for a bit of R&R..

But.. The text wasn’t exactly what he was expecting... One brow rose in question as he read the odd message..

“....What the hell are you up to now, lady?”

Dean was muttering curses as he made his way to the car, bucket of white paint in one hand and a paintbrush between his teeth as the other hand fumbled around for the keys to open the trunk. Apparently a demon trap wasn’t enough to dissuade certain critters from going where they weren’t wanted.. So he was going to fix that.

...

It was the third week in a row that something had gone missing from their weapons cache in the trunk, at first he hadn’t thought much of it..  The place was a goddamn mess anyway, he’d figured something had just been misplaced.. But then.. there was a significant claw mark near the lip of the trunk. That had sent the eldest Winchester into such a screaming fit that he had the very few other guests at their motel peeking out their curtains to see what the hell was going on.

“I’m gonna FRY that bitch when I see her! DEEP FRIED BUFFALO WINGS! YOU HEAR ME, PHANTOM BITCH?!” He shrieked, not really giving a damn who heard or saw... No one fucked Baby up.. No one.

And what exactly had the critter been after? A damn rosary. That’s all that had been missing from the trunk.. A fucking rosary and a hideous gash in the paint job.

...

So.. After taking all the weapons out of the trunk and studying a lore book for damn near two hours.. He came up with a solution.

Dean was going to trap the psycho in his trunk.

Popping the lid with his one empty hand, Dean climbed inside the deep cavern of a trunk and laid down to paint.. A hybrid between an angel trap and a demon trap. He’d mixed a little of his own blood and vervain into the paint.. If Cas had been present, he would have asked for a feather just to make the thing a bit more potent.. But beggars can’t be choosers as the saying goes.

Hot..

It was so damn hot here.. Wherever the hell here was.

Dean Winchester hated witches, that much was common knowledge as he’d commented on that particular hatred since his first run in with them as a teen. They were full of tricks and disgusting, stomach churning spells.. And according to the older Winchester, had a hard time keeping bodily fluids in. So it was understandable that he was less than pleased with his previous run in.

Some little burb outside of Omaha Nebraska was suffering a rash of strange and sudden deaths. None of the happenings had made sense and like always, the police proved to be useless. This left the young hunter with a case.. John was on a hunt of his own and Sammy was off playing college boy.. So it was down to him, one of the very few cases he’d worked by himself.

With what he’d found when he got to the suburb, he was pretty much able to nail it down to a witch.. Not much else could make a guy start puking broken glass. When he’d finally found out exactly who the witch was; some rich dude that had a vendetta against the company he’d been fired from, and he committed a little B&E for the final show down, he’d been surprised to find the living room covered floor to ceiling in mirrors.. Mirrors painted with what looked like blood. The last thing he saw of that house was a man in a black robe chanting crap in a language he’d never heard.. A flash of light.. And broken glass.

Now he was wandering down a weed covered road toward what looked like a city in the distance.. This place just felt different, wrong, like he didn’t really belong here. 

His shirt was beginning to cling to his back from the summer heat and it only served to make him that much more agitated. His top layer of shirt had been wrapped around his hips almost as soon as he woke up from his little nap.. Whatever had happened, apparently the transition to wherever the hell he was now had knocked him out.. Covered in dirt, scratches and a minimal amount of blood from his face to the toes of his boots and given the stinging ache in his left shoulder, Dean guessed he’d come in hard.. From high up..

“...Dammit its hot out here..”