March is finally ending and all I can think about is fucking. Something dormant is rushing through my veins. Something needy and alive. My thoughts are all lusty, rutting, dripping, swelling, throbbing, juicy, hard to ignore. I want to stretch for you, gasp under your grip, swallow you whole. My body hums with this appetite. Stroke my intentions. Winter was cruel, take your fill.
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Terrible Fic Idea #106: AKOTSK, but make it identity porn
As you can probably tell, Stormhedge has been living in my head rent free for the past few weeks. So naturally my brain has been throwing all my favorite tropes at it to see what would stick.
Or: What if Dunk entered the lists at Ashford Meadow as a mystery knight?
aka the no more counting dollars, weâll be counting stars fic
Just imagine it:
Ser Arlan dies on the road to a different tourney, which is minor enough to draw no big names but major enough to earn the winner a bit of a name for themselves in the Reach. Dunk is able to compete - and comes in third place, winning enough to outfit himself properly, if plainly.
He puts on enough of a showing that heâd probably have been asked to swear to one House or another if not for an incident with a serving girl. Which is to say, he stops some younger son of a minor but well-connected noble from taking advantage of a scullery maid - and then proceeds to not let the nobleâs father cover it up. The younger son is sent to the Wall, and Dunk is politely asked to leave the moment the tourneyâs over.
And so Dunk leaves Blackcrown, taking odd jobs as he heads up the Roseroad, until he learns of a tourney at Ashford Meadow. Its larger than the one at Blackcrown - large enough to draw multiple Lords Paramount - but minor enough that the royal family would not have been expected to attend if they werenât in the area for other matters already.
Dunk means to enter the lists, but Plummer manages to convince him to enter as a mystery knight.
There are a lot of reasons for this. On one hand, Lord Ashford is a man who cannot say no to his children. It makes no political or economical sense for him to throw a tourney for his 13 year old daughter, but she wants one - and all good tourneys need a mystery knight. (âWe were going to have one of her distant cousins do it, but the poor sod tripped down a staircase while drunk a few weeks back. Broke a leg and lost what little wits he had. Lucky for you, he was a big lad; you should fit into the armor he was to use with few adjustments.â)
On the other, Lord Ashford has spent a lot of money on the tourney. Too much. He needs to retrench badly. To which end, Plummer plans to rig certain bets, for which a relatively unknown hedge knight will do well. (Not that he tells Dunk this - Dunk thinks itâs all for the girl and to make the tourney sound grander than it was in the history books.)
The tourney proceeds apace, albeit in a more traditional bracket style than with the five champions.
Dunk meets Lyonel the night before the first joust, being invited to the party tent by Raymun Fossoway. After 6 months as a knight with a third-place tourney win under his belt, heâs a little less shrinking maid than canon, but he still feels palpably out of place. Even so, heâs fascinated by the charismatic high lord who treats him like an equalâŠ
âŠand Lyonel is just a little fascinated in turn. Itâs not love or anything close to it, not at first, just the desire to spend time together and get to know each other. A frisson.
The mystery knight makes quite a stir on the first day of jousting, winning his both his bouts that day. (As his shield is painted with a field of stars and comets, heâs called The Knight of Falling Stars. His mismatched armor also serves to disguise quite how tall he is, making his identity uncertain.)
The next four days of jousts are taken up by Dunk working his way up the lists⊠and his evenings with Lyonel, who pulls Dunk along in his wake to whatever party or event or feast heâs obliged to attend.
(âIâm surprised not to see you in the lists, Ser Duncan.â âHeâs saving himself for the melee. Have you seen him on the practice fields? My cousin swears he lost all feeling in his shield arm for quarter hour after sparing with him - and Ser Duncan was clearly moderating his strength.â)
And then, on the fifth day, Dunk and Lyonel meet in the lists.
Smart money would be on the Laughing Storm - he has the experience and training. But luck is on Dunkâs side, and The Knight of Falling Stars bests Lyonel during a contest of arms, earning himself a place in the final eight challengers.
Their bout is all anyone can talk about during the break for lunch, smallfolk or noble. (âDid you see it, Ser Duncan?â Lyonel asks, in remarkable good cheer for a man who has just lost his arms, armor, and horse to an unknown knight. âIâve not enjoyed myself so much in a joust since I was a green boy. I must discover The Knight of Falling Starsâ identity!â âHeâll be unmasked tomorrow, my lord. One way or another.â âYes, but then someone else might get to him first. And what did I tell you about those my lords?â)
Aerion in particular is in high dudgeon about this, as it means hardly anyone is talking about his win over his cousin, Prince Valarr, earlier in the day.
He takes his displeasure out on Ser Humphrey Hardyngâs horse in the first joist after the meal, bringing a rather inglorious end to that days events. (Aerion, for his part, is rather pleased. The small folk may be rioting, but at least theyâre talking about him.)
The rain keeps most everyone indoors the rest of the afternoon and the next day - but not Lyonel. Heâs relentless in his search for the mystery knight. (âBetween you and he, none shall doubt I have the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms beneath my banner.â âYou- You wish me to return with you to Stormâs End?â âDo not be absurd. I would chain you to my side if I could, but as the Septons frown upon that I shall have to settle for your wiling service, however long I shall have it.â)
On the seventh day of the tourney, after making up for the bouts missed due to rain (and rioting), Dunk and Aerion find themselves paired in the final eight.
Aerion proves himself a poor jouster when not resorting to dirty tricks and a poorer hand-to-hand combatant when up against someone uncaring of his rank. Heâs eventually forced to yieldâŠ
âŠonly to try to attack Dunk with his broken sword when his back is turned. The scandal from this is even worse than the business two dayâs previous with the horse, and Maekar practically drags his son off the field.
Dunk loses to Longthorn Tyrell in the next round and is revealed to be The Knight of Falling Stars - which practically has Lyonel dragging him off the field in celebration. (âI should have known it was you!â Lyonel declares. âWho could rival you but yourself? I should be terribly cross at you for letting me run around like a fool all yesterday.â Dunk tries to apologize, to explain that was never his intention, but before he can so much as open his mouth Lyonel is kissing him fiercely and all thought flees.)
Aerion, of course, is absolutely livid at being beaten by a no-name hedge night - and even more livid about being publicly scolded like a child for his actions. He sneaks out of the castle and ends up attacking some smallfolk who are laughingly retelling his loss over their ales.
What starts as a brawl ends in Westerosâ first true sports riot.
Many are injured in the the rioting and more than a few tents are burned, but the vast majority of deaths occur when Aerionâs men start firing crossbow bolts into the crowd after the prince is knocked to the ground and trampled. Bruised and battered, Aerion blames the whole situation on Dunk, saying that he instigated the whole thing and is surely plotting treason against the crown.
Most realize itâs just the ravings of an injured and humiliated princeling, but the accusations still have to be dealt with.
Dunk is brought to face Prince Baelor and company, but itâs a vastly differently situation in canon. (Lord Ashford is rather pleased with Dunk, having earned quite a bit of coin - through Plummer - on him; Lord Tyrell is impressed with his skill on the field and chivalry after his loss; the princes have learned of Dunk's actions during the tourney at Blackcrown, which paint him as a defender of the innocent rather than someone whoâd encourage them to riot, &c)
Aerionâs accusations of treason are quickly dismissed⊠but the ones that arise when Aegon bursts in with an enraged Laughing Storm are not.
No one seriously believes Dunk kidnapped the Prince, but they try to make him swear to House Targaryen to smooth over any insult. (To which Lyonel practically crows, âSee, Ser Duncan? See? I told you they would try to steal you from me. You are too late, Your Graces, he has already sworn to House Baratheon. And we shall not be letting him go.â)
This goes on for a while, but they eventually settle on Dunk privately apologizing to Daeron for borrowing his squire and Egg not being allowed to squire for Dunk foster at Stormâs End until his hair grows back.
Aerion is exiled to Lys, where he offends one of the local lords a few years later. His death nearly causes the Third Blackfyre Rebellion, which is foiled only when the ships carrying the last remaining Blackfyres and many leaders of the Gold Company are lost during a storm at sea.
Dunk follows Lyonel to Stormâs End. Though he travels some, remains the Laughing Stormâs most stalwart friend and defender, eventually becoming the castle's castellan. Lyonelâs children grow up calling him uncle - as do Egg's. And though some may suspect the truth, none call them on it. Itâs a quiet life, lived openly only behind closed doors, but they would call it a good one.
Bonuses include:
Lyonelâs wife being exceptionally pleased heâs brought home a lover who cannot give him children which might supplant hers, as she neither wishes to risk childbed again or keep poisoning herself with fallible moon tea. She and Dunk eventually become close friends.
Egg pulling every trick in the book to keep Lyonel from discovering Dunk is the Knight of Falling Stars, from the masterful misdirect to stuffing Dunk into proverbial closets. This should be played for maximum comedy and at times feel like an early 2000s Nickelodeon comedy sketch; and
Raymun being the only one looking past Egg's distractions to realize Dunk is the mystery knight. Like Plummer, he places much coin on his bouts and makes out like a bandit - itâs not quite enough to build New Barrel after he breaks with his cousin, but it goes a long way toward getting there.
And thatâs all I have this time. As always, feel free to adopt, just link back if you ever do anything with it.
I'd seen people in love - truly in love. The joy that moved with them, the way things around them softened as if their companionship, their laughter was enough to transform any space into one of warmth. The way their eyes always sought their partners not for approval but to communicate something no one else could hear. That silent language that came with comfort and affection and devotion. Â
I'd never had that kind of connection, I had never asked for it. With all that I had done, with all that I had endured, I was content to just have the silence. The peace that came with the quiet of a solitary life, yet one where I could still be gentle. Where my hands could help to carry the burdens that were too heavy for others - where I did not need to hurt or command anyone. I could just be a silent witness to their grief as I knew it well, I knew how to navigate all the roads though it. I could help others stumble down that path with compassion until they were strong enough to walk on their own. And then I would return to the beginning, to assist the next person who looked at me like their world had been shattered - who was lost on how to move forward.Â
Maybe this was my self imposed penance, to witness the aftermath of death, to become its companion and to learn how to help those who had been left behind.Â
But when I saw those wintry eyes, the distance they held, the brokennessâŠI found I couldn't look away. I could not simply set him down the path and let him carry it. I didn't know why it hit me so hard, but that pain on his face was just one I couldn't tolerate. Not after everything he'd once done for me. I owed him my life, the peace I had managed to find, and I knew I wanted to do everything I could to help ease that suffering. Even if it was just ensuring that he ate. Or offering him a quiet place to sit and listen to the breeze over the lake. Or a warm cup of coffee. I would share what I had if it meant he would notâŠlook at the world like that anymore.Â
I do not know when him looking at me started to make me feel like he was seeing me and not simply looking for a lifeline. When looking back at him became something I did with a fondness that surpassed simple compassion. When I started wanting to make him smile or when I had to start hiding my own because being with him was starting to make me feel things I had no name for, had no experience with.
It was only after many weeks, after he had come for me when I thought no one would, after I had been run through with that unforgiving steel and was bleeding out on a sandy stretch of beach that I realizedâŠmaybe what I felt went beyond friendship. Maybe it was the way those cool eyes had no longer been broken when they looked at me, but fierce, how he had touched my face and told me to stay with him that solidified that feeling. Even if I still certainly wanted to be his friend, maybe I cared more for him than friends did.Â
It was how his eyes had found mine, how they stripped all the weight of the world away, how the very act of looking at me touched something deep inside my heart that had been born restless - incomplete and bitter for it, perhaps. They brought something to life that I may never have known was missing but had always expected was not presentâŠuntil he looked at me like that.Â
Until I realized that I might love him more than the silence.
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but heâs also known to break a few hearts. Heâs starting to crave something heâs never had, though. Something stable. Something real.Â
Thatâs when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.  Â
đ„ Series Masterlist
Word Count: 5,000
Tags/Warnings: Fluff, house fire, perilous situations, angst, hurt/comfortÂ
Part 5: âTwitterpatedâ
âHey there, beautiful,â Dean said.
His voice alone was enough to cause a shiver tingling down your spine.
You couldnât help but giggle as he once again drew you into a kiss. He held you close by the waist. Feeling his hands spanning your lower back was doing things to you, but you knew you had to keep a level head here.
âDean,â you said. Your lips curved against his. âWeâve said hello about three times now.â
âWanna make it four?â he suggested. His voice was deep as sin.
Damn this man, you thought. He was a professional flirt.
But you laughed, and he smirked at the sound. He resisted letting you go when you playfully tried to pull away. The two of you were standing in the middle of your small office, in front of your desk at work. A large bag of takeout was perched on your desk, but neither of you cared about food just yet.
Dean liked the look of you in your navy blouse, tucked into a trim pair of pants, down to your smart heels.
âTell me you didnât go up all 20-something flights of stairs in those daggers you got on,â he remarked.
You followed his gaze down to your heels.
âOh no,â you said. âIâve got a backup pair of sneakers that I came to work in. Then I slip these on behind my desk. No oneâs the wiser.â
Dean enjoyed that playful little smirk you gave him. He still couldnât believe youâd walked all those stairs, but he guessed he couldnât begrudge you for your lingering fear of elevators.
âYeah? What else do you get up to behind that desk? Besides work, that is,â he teased. You guffawed and playfully hit his arm.
He chuckled and finally released you. Youâd already dragged a spare chair next to yours behind your desk, so he began helping you unearth the various containers in the bag he brought. All the while, he surreptitiously took an inventory of your office.
It was all very neat and organized, just like you. You had a large window right behind you, which let in some much-needed natural light. There were tile floors, like the rest of the building, but while your desk was an old wood, clunky thing, you had a double monitor setup with an organized file system on either side.
As you pushed things aside and made room for the food, Dean noted the way stray pieces of hair fell from your clip, framing your face. He itched to take that clip out and make that hair wild, maybe even wrapping it around his hand.
Instead, he reached out and tucked a few strands behind your ear. It earned your attention with a soft blush.
âWhat?â you asked.
âNothinâ,â he grinned. He was treated to one of your shy smiles as you continued in your task.
Soon you and Dean were once again sharing good food and conversation. You explained what you did for work, being a Senior Sales Representative at Savage & Co. He listened, offering interjections here and there: gems like, Josh sounds like a fucking idiot. And, so does your boss. You couldnât disagree.
In the back of your mind, it was still a bit strange for Dean to be in your office. It felt rather intimate for a second date, but you supposed coming to your place of work wasnât so new to him.
âYou sure are killing that chicken,â Dean remarked, as he watched you carve into a large drumstick with fork and knife. He shot you a teasing smile. âYou know itâs already dead, right?â  Â
You gave him a dry look, despite your amusement. âIâm starving! All Iâve had today is a cup of coffee.âÂ
He frowned at that. âWhat, you canât take a break for an egg McMuffin?â
âHa!â you cracked, and took a sip of lemonade. âThere are no breaks around here.â
Dean hummed, though you could see he didnât like it.
âYou sound like Sam,â he said.
âOh, your brother?â
âYeah, Mr. District Attorney,â Dean said in a mocking voice. But his smile betrayed his fondness, and his pride for his younger brotherâs accomplishments.
You remembered then that Deanâs father was a police officer as wellâa real life homicide detective! You ruminated on that when you and Dean moved on to dessert. You had a scoop of frozen yogurt, while he started to dig into a slice of blueberry pie.
âYou know, itâs amazing to me that your entire family went into public service, from all angles,â you said. âItâs impressiveâŠand really noble, actually.â
Dean offered you a quirk of a smile. It told you he wasnât typically one to be comfortable with praise, as he carded a hand through his hair.
âYeah, well. Itâs a living,â was all he said.
You shook your head with a smile. His humility seemed genuine, and you found it endearing as hell.
âAnd youâre the eldest, right?â you asked. Dean nodded around a mouthful of pie. He set down the little tray between you for a moment.
âYeah, though you wouldnât know it looking at my brother. Around sixteen, he shot up like a damn weed. Frigginâ gigantor.â
You giggled at the image. Now you were truly intrigued, and hoped to meet both Sam and Deanâs father in the future. Though for right now, you glanced down at the slice of pie resting between you, all glossy blueberry filling and flaky crust.
You raised your cup of frozen yogurt to him. âWanna try a bit of this, so I can try a bit of that?â
You went for a piece of pie with your fork, but Dean snatched the tray out of reach. He eyed you with a bit of admonishment.
âHey, now. I got you your fake ice cream or whatever,â he said. You rose brow at him, both incredulous and amused.
âWhat, you wonât share with me?â you asked.
A smile twitched at his lips, but he stayed firm.
âSweetheart, Iâll get you whatever you want, but hereâs where I draw the line.â
You laughed in disbelief. But then an idea made your smile slide into flirtation. You set your dessert aside and rolled your chair closer to his. Dean watched you as your hand slid up his arm, and your pretty eyes met his.
âOkay, what if I make it worth your while?â you posed.
He tilted his head. His hand found the curve of your waist and slid around, bringing you even closer.
âOh, yeah?â he challenged. âIf you really want my pie, thatâs gotta be damn worth it.â
Another giggle bubbled in your throat, but you continued to play your part.
âI have a few ideas,â you said. Your fingers drew a path down his chest, over the soft gray Henley he wore. You could feel the warmth of his skin underneath, and the firmness of his body. His grip on your waist tightened a fraction.  Â
And he smirked. âTell meâŠâ
Your lips were a whisper from his. He smelled like spicy cologne and blueberries. Two of his fingers came to brush your hair away from your cheekâŠ
But as usual, your boss had the absolute worst timing. The sound of your office door opening was like a gunshot ringing through the room, making you and Dean separate from one another with a jolt.
Nick Savage strode in without knocking, as he was wont to do. (No matter how many times you asked him not to.)
âHey, whatâs your progress on the Greenway accountâŠoh,â said Nick, pausing where he stood.
He took note of Dean in the room and straightened his posture. His expression changed from its lazy gait, to a more tightened one. You swore you could spot a tinge of annoyance as well, like he was surprised that he hadnât caught you alone in your office.
âI see Iâm interrupting,â he said.
Holding in a sigh, you looked over at Dean and found him similarly assessing Nick.
âThis is Dean. You might remember him from last week, when the elevator broke down. Heâs one of the firefighters who got me out,â you said. Your hand fell on your companionâs arm. âDean, this isââ
âHer boss,â Nick said. He seemed to lighten up and give Dean a smile, reaching over to shake the manâs hand. Dean obliged him.
âSo Iâve heard,â he said. His tone was pleasant enough, but still more reserved.
Nick purposefully shifted his attention back to you.
âReport? Greenway account?â he repeated.
Your lips firmed into a line, though you slipped back into the professional patience you had to maintain at all times with this man.
âIâm still on my break, but Iâll have the report to you by end-of-day,â you said.
Nick tsked at you with a shrug. âHowâre you gonna get that account locked down if youâre not trying to conference with Mr. Greenway? Heâs headed to China in two hours.â
You had to reign in an annoyed tick in your brow. But you didnât notice how Dean was watching the exchange between you and your boss with a thinly veiled frown.
âIâve called three times, Nick. Heâll get back to me.â
âHmm. I wonder if Josh is taking that same approach,â Nick wondered with mocking sincerity. âIâll go ask him.â
He finally turned to leave, though he stopped short, giving Dean a lazy salute. âNice to meet youâŠâ
âDean,â he reminded.Â
âRight.â Nick slid a pointed finger your way. âGreenway. 2:00 p.m.â
You were silently simmering by the time your office door closed behind him.Â
âWell, heâs a delight,â Dean remarked. Â
âHeâs a dick,â you huffed and tossed your napkin down. But you grabbed your desk phone to make a quick callâto Mr. Greenway.
Dean frowned, but he covered it up by wiping his mouth with a napkin, subtly clearing his throat.
âI should head out then, let you get back to work,â he said.Â
His words made you pause. You had a reply ready on your tongue, that his suggestion was probably for the best.
But then you actually looked into his eyes. Guilt prickled in your chest as you realized what you were doing. Not only were you letting Nick get under your skin again, but here was a man whoâd brought you lunch. Who was willing to sit in an uncomfortable chair to spend some time with you, and you were about to brush him off.
You hung up the phone without dialing.Â
âNo. Iâm sorry. Stay, please,â you told him, and grabbed his arm to keep him in his seat. You pushed your desk phone away with your spare hand and gave Dean your full attention, along with a smile.
âWhere were we?â you asked.
Finally, Deanâs reserved expression eased as he relaxed in his chair, and subtly leaned towards you. He thumbed at your cheek with a smirk.
âI donât know, something about making it worth my while.â
You bit your lip on a deeper smile.
âOh, yeah,â you nodded. You crossed the ever-closing distance to give Dean a proper kiss. Your hand found his cheek, and your thumb brushed back and forth across the stubble there. You tasted sweet, sweet pie on his lips.Â
Even after you parted softly, Dean went back in for a second taste of you. This time it was deeper, as he angled into the kiss. He once again brought you close, just shy of dragging you into his lap.
His hand reached behind your head and succeeded in taking the clip out of your hair. He tossed it on your desk and sunk his hand into the soft strands while his lips continued to devour yours.
It was a small move, but you found it both soothing and exhilarating. You shuddered when you felt his fingers brush the back of your neck. It had you contemplating locking the door of your office and forgoing the rest of lunchâŠbut your mind was competing with your heart, warning you to be cautious. To protect yourself.Â
Really, youâd just met Dean. You had no idea what to expect here, even though your heart was tripping up over his slightest touch.
Still, your face was warm when you eventually parted from him. You chanced meeting his eyes, and you blushed further at what you saw.
The truth was, Dean had been contemplating laying you out flat across your desk. But he tried his best to keep it down to a simmer behind his eyes, a bright and gleaming green.
âWorth it?â you asked. Your voice was a mere whisper, despite your smile.
He returned it, and gave you one last kiss.
âSo worth it,â he said.Â
Dean wasnât sure he liked this.
The start of his shift was usually the time for him to be relaxed, but focused. He knew who he was and what he needed to do when he entered the firehouse. It was his second home, perhaps even the place where he felt most comfortable.
And yet, he nearly burnt his hand while pouring himself a cup of coffee.
âShit,â he muttered. He jolted and hopped back a step as scalding brown liquid splashed between his feet. It had Benny and Meg looking over from the common room, where they sat at the dining table.
Dean looked at the mess he created and tried not to sigh. He wasnât awake enough for thisâŠor maybe, he didnât want to admit that heâd been thinking about you.
Your smile, your eyes, your voice, your occasional shyness, versus the way you dealt with your boss like a pro. Your confidence that was damn sexy, and had Dean imagining what youâd be like taking his orders, or giving them right back, shoving him down into a seat, straddling his thighs, his hands hiking up your skirtâŠ
Dean shook his head a bit sharply to try and clear it.
He circled into the kitchen in need of a paper towel. But he bumped right into Jack, who was making breakfast. It sent the salt canister flying out of his hand and dumping into the pan of eggs.
âOh, fuck. Sorry,â Dean said. He really did sigh this time. Now theyâd have to wait even longer for breakfast.
âUh, itâs okay. I can save it,â Jack said, though his brows were furrowed as he contemplated just how he was going to do that. He took a wooden spoon and tried to scoop out the mound of salt on the still-sizzling eggs.
Meanwhile, Deanâs lips pursed as he went over to grab a few paper towels. Once the mess by the coffeemaker was clean, he poured himself a tall cup and took a seat between his friends. Benny shot him a glance as he sipped at his own mug.
âYou all right, brother?â Benny asked.
âJust fine,â Dean replied. He tried to sound breezy, but neither Benny or Meg bought it. She eyed him with a smirk.
âHeard you went on a date the other night,â she said. âA real one, with chocolates and flowers and all that shit.â
Dean shot her a sharper frown. âWho the hell toldâŠoh. Perfect. Goddamn it, Cas.â
He shouldâve known that big-mouth bastard couldnât be trusted.
âNope,â Meg said. Her eyes were dancing mischievously, and Dean knew he was in for it this morning. âYour little girlfriend is best friends with my cousin.â
Benny cleared his throat, but he looked both unrepentant and tight-lipped about his business as he stayed sipping his coffee. Dean shot him a smirk. Until Meg directed her cutting gaze back to him.
âAnd you,â she said, just as slyly. âDating your own damsel in distress. How fucking predictable.â
Deanâs lips firmed into a line, while Bennyâs brows shot up.
âYou really went for it with Elevator Girl?â he remarked in surprise. âI saw you two talkinâ, but didnât think youâd pulled the trigger.â
Dean rolled his eyes. âAll right, first of all, letâs stop calling her âElevator Girl.â Sheâs got a name.â
Once heâd told them your name, however, their smiles deepened. And Dean knew it was about to be a long shift.
âOoh, heâs got it bad, bad,â Benny shook his head.
Meg made a âcuteâ face at him and reached out to shake Deanâs chin, smirking when he slapped her hand away.
âLook at him, all twitterpated,â she teased.
âIâm fine,â Dean all but gritted out.Â
Benny chuckled, but truthfully, he was happy for his friend. It seemed the time had finally come when Dean Winchester was hooked on a nice girl. Hopefully one he intended to keep seeing.
âIf itâs that serious, you should bring her by the Roadhouse again,â Benny said.
Dean snorted into his coffee. âYeah, like Iâd want to subject her to you degenerate clowns.â
âWell, if you expect to keep it going with this girl, sheâs gotta meet us eventually,â Meg pointed out. Dean shot her a look.
âOh, sheâs definitely not meetinâ you,â he said.
Before Dean could utter a retort, a familiar alarm bell tolled on the intercom speakers. There was a working house fire over in Bellmontâthe wealthier part of town. Truck 79 and Rescue Squad 5 were called, along with Ambulance 7.
All hands on deck.
âOkay, Jack. Youâre staying on my ass once we get in there. You got it?â Dean told the Candidate.
âYes, Lieutenant,â Jack agreed. It was only his second real fire since he joined Firehouse 25.
By now the team was in full gear, with jackets and helmets and belts. The Chief, Bobby Singer, was at the helm. He and Dean shared a nod.
âAll right, Dean. Head in. Lafitte and Ramirez will vent the roof,â he said.Â
Dean nodded again. âYou got it, Chief.â
While two of his team got the firehose ready, Dean fitted his mask over his face. Already the fire was at a full blaze. They had a limited time before the fire grew too wild to safely maneuver. Theyâd know when the flames started smoking black. The Chief would let them know on their walkie talkies, and Dean would have to pull his team out.
But first, there was a family of four trapped inside the large two-story house. He fully intended to get every single one of them out.
Thanks to the mask, he could hear his own deep breaths in his ears as he entered the house. A quick look back confirmed that Jack was on his heels, and Gordon was right behind him.
âOkay, clear each room. Iâm going right, through the kitchen,â Dean called out the order.
âIâll take left through the living room,â Gordon replied.
Dean shot a thumbs up. âCopy that.â
Then they got to work.
The flames were high and eating up the walls of what wouldâve been a pristine open kitchen. The room was clear, so Jack and Dean kept moving forward until they reached a long hall. They had to hasten single file until Dean opened up the first bedroom with his crowbar.
âFire Department, call out!â he shouted.
He didnât hear anything, but that didnât mean the room was clear. It was a childâs room, a girl if he had to guess. There were stuffed animals strewn across an unmade bed with pink bedsheets. He checked the closet while Jack looked under the bed. Neither man found anything.
âAll right, moving on. First bedroom clear,â Dean said into his walkie talkie. âGoing upstairs next.â
âMaster bedroom clear,â Gordon commed in.
Jack and Dean continued to the second floor, where the flames were thickest. It was getting harder to see, and even harder to breathe, despite the mask.
âWeâre almost outta time, fellas,â Bobby radioed. Â
âJust a couple more rooms, Chief,â Dean responded. The first and second bathroom was clear, as was a linen closet in the hall. He had a feeling about this last room though.
He opened the door and nearly got a flaming piece of wall dropped on his head. He jumped back at the same time Jack helped pull him to safety.
Dean breathed deeply. He didnât have time for thanks, but he reached back and pat Jack on the arm before he entered the bedroom. It was another childâs room, this time for a boyâwith green walls, and a school uniform on the back of a chair.
âFire Department!â he said, though it nearly died on his tongue at what he saw.
There in the far corner, on the other side of the twin bed, was a man kneeling on the floor. He was doing his best to cover his wife and kids. His back was charred beyond recognition.
Dean snapped to attention when he heard one of the kids whimper.
âFire Department,â he repeated, as he rushed to them. He and Jack peeled the man off his family as carefully as he could. Dean hauled him onto his shoulder.
Meanwhile, the manâs wife was crying and holding her children as tight as possible: a boy that looked about 10 years old, and a young girl. The motherâs glassy eyes widened with hope when she saw Jack and Dean.
âWeâre gonna get you out. Come on,â Dean reassured. His hand on her shoulder was both supportive and urging her up onto her feet. Jack helped get her kids up as well.
Gordon joined them as soon as they were out of the room. He picked up the boy while Jack carried the little girl, and Dean had an arm wrapped around the mother while he still carried the father on his shoulder.Â
They made it out of the house just before the ceiling started to cave in at the doorway.
Meg and Chuck were waiting for them with a gurney, where Dean carefully laid down the man he carried. His wife hovered close with her kids as Meg began calling out instructions to her partner, trying to take the manâs vitals, all while they wheeled him towards the ambulance.
Just before they wouldâve brought him up into the ambo, Meg halted them with a hand. Her other gloved hand was poised at the manâs wrist. She listened closely for a few more seconds in concentrationâŠ
And she sighed through her nose. She removed her stethoscope and met the wifeâs eyes.
âIâm sorry. Heâs gone.â
Deanâs heart fell into his stomach, but he held the woman as she fell apart. Jack and Gordon did the same for the kids. Behind them, the rest of the team were dousing the flames and black smoke consuming the house with the firehose. Chief Singer let out a heavy breath, but he continued issuing orders as needed.
Dean stared at the pale, soot-stained face of the man heâd failed to save. The womanâs cries rang in his ears, and he continued to support her as she fell to her knees and gathered her children close.
He understood their pain.
Not for the first time, he wondered what his father mustâve feltâŠthe day his mother died.
Dean was a seasoned firefighter. Heâd seen enough of the horrors this world could produce, and he had an internal catalogue of shit heâd rather forget. But he knew, as he later got back onto the truck for the long ride back to the firehouse.
He knew this day would be another one to be imprinted on his memory.
âYouâre quiet,â Sam noted. He ate dinner in relative silence with his brother, in the apartment they shared. Dean met Samâs eyes.
âLong day,â Dean eventually said.
Sam didnât like the sound of that. Before he could probe further, Deanâs phone vibrated on the small dining table.
Dean slowly reached for his phone and saw the new text message, from you.
Hey, thanks again for lunch yesterday. Hope I get to see you again soon. â€ïž
It briefly lightened him, almost bringing a smile to his face.
It soon fell, even though his thumb hovered over the keyboard to reply. His mind was blank. Right now, he couldnât think of a damn thing flirtatious, or charming, or even human enough to say to you.
âDean,â Sam said, earning his attention. âWhatâs wrong?â
Again, Dean hesitated. He blew out a slow, heavy breath and sat back in his seat. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair as he thought and thought.
But if anyone mightâve understood where his head was at, it was his brother.
âWhat do you think wouldâve happened if Mom had made it out of the fire, instead of Dad?â Dean asked.
To say that question shocked Sam would be an understatement. Yet to his credit, Sam internalized most of his reaction. He tilted his head as his brows furrowed.
âI donât know,â he replied honestly. Deanâs question was impossible for his mind to even wrap around; mostly because he never got the chance to meet his mother. The house fire claimed their home when Sam was barely six months old.
All he knew was his father, and Dean.
Dean shook his head and wiped a hand over his mouth, an anxious gesture Sam knew well.Â
âShe wouldâve been just as messed up at Dad, butâŠI donât know. Ignore me. I donât know what the fuck Iâm saying.â
âWhat made you think about that?â Sam asked.
âToday,â Dean said. Though he paused, he managed to say it. âIt was a house fire. A mom and two little kids, boy and girl. Their dad just laid over âem, took the brunt of it.â
âJesusâŠhe didnât make it, did he?â Sam deduced, from Deanâs eyes and his tone. Dean shook his head slow.Â
âIâve seen a lot of shit, Sammy, butâŠâ
This was why Sam worried about his brother. He admired the hell out of him, but he also worried.Â
Sam had a ring in his nightstand. Heâd picked it out last month. Part of him was hesitating to move forward, not because he thought his girlfriend of three years would say no to marrying him, but because he didnât want his brother to be alone.
âYou donât have to look at me like that. Iâm okay,â Dean said, levying him with a knowing look. His lips gave a wry turn. âNothing a couple shots of Jameson wonât cure.â
Sam snorted. âYeah, thatâs what you need.â
âRight. Like I havenât caught you up late with your mistress, Johnny Walker,â Dean tossed back.
Samâs lips pursed, but the point was made. He spent his days putting murderers, drug dealers, rapists, and thieves on trial. Some days were darker and more unreal in their realism than others. And he could only burden Eileen so much.
Still, he didnât like the look of Dean, who got up from the table and took his half-full plate of spaghetti to the sink.
Dean went up to his room and showered. Heâd done so at the station, but showering was one of those methodical things he could do to try to ease his mind, besides working on his car. It provided an alternative to drinking.Â
But it didnât work this time, as he knew it wouldnât. He lied in bed after getting dressed, just staring up at the ceiling.Â
He checked his phone and saw your text, still waiting on an answer. He hesitatedâŠbut his thumb hovered over your name. He called you instead. Â
âHey,â your soft voice greeted him. You sounded surprised to get his call, but also a little sleepy, like you were on the verge of going down for the night.
âHey, yourself,â Dean said. âSorry, were you about to get to sleep?â
âNo, Iâm awake. Whatâre you up to?â
âIâm home. Been a long day,â he admitted.Â
âYeah?â you asked. âDean, are you okay?â
He heard the perceptive shift in your tone. Against his best efforts, he shouldâve known you would pick up on the threads of his mood. But he smiled at the sincerity in your voice. True concern.Â
âYeah. Iâm good, sweetheart. Howâre you?â
âUh-uh. Not so fast,â you replied. ââŠDid something happen at work today?â
He sighed. âYeah, but uhâŠwe donât need to get into it. Itâs okay.â
âYou sure?â you asked. âIâm a good listener.â
âThat you are,â he said, with a deeper smile. âYou know whatâll help me?â
âWhatâs that?â
âTell me, how bad did you wanna knuckle-dunk your bossâs teeth in today?âÂ
âOh my God. On a scale of 1 to 10?â
âLay it on me.â
â20,â you replied. âYou met him, so now I can tell you without exaggeration. Heâs the Chief Asshat among asshats.â
Dean chuckled. It crinkled the corners of his eyes.
âWhatâd he do this time?â
You explained your latest frustrations. Then you continued to make him laugh with all the creative ways youâd imagined ending your boss for his dickish behavior, demanding reports, pitting you against your coworkers, being a general pain in the ass.Â
The rusty can opener in the break lounge was Deanâs personal favorite.Â
Hearing about your day, and the colorful adjectives you used, managed to lighten him. For a little while, it even took his mind off his troubles. And you admitted that venting to him about your violent fantasies was its own form of therapy.Â
âDamn, do I gotta worry about you?â Dean teased.Â
âOnly if you get on my bad side, Lieutenant,â you said. Your voice was nearly a purr.
It had him smirking, with a tendril of heat lacing down the back of his neck.Â
âAll right, then. I promise I wonât make it a habit,â he said. âGotta keep you nice and sweet for me.âÂ
You laughed then, in a way that had him imagining your pretty smile.Â
He ended up talking with you about everything and nothing, well into the night.
AN: đ„č *sighs* Anywho, I know this chapter was a little shorter than usual, but I hope you got a kick out of Dean's first meeting with Nick. And we got a snapshot of an unfortunate "bad day" at the firehouse.
In Part 6, we'll get deeper into the murder mystery, along with a taste of jealousy...
Next Time:
âUh, no, thatâs okay,â you said. âIâm waiting for someone.â
âWhat?â Gordon asked.
It was getting busy in the bar, making it loud enough that you could understand why he hadnât heard you. You leaned over towards his ear.
âIâm good for now, thanks,â you said, raising your voice a bit. Gordon leaned in even closer and chanced resting a hand above your knee.
âYou sure?â he asked. He gave you a smile that was all smooth sex appeal and confidence, without being arrogant. It was undoubtedly attractive, but you were more shocked than charmed in your blush.
You instinctively leaned back when you felt his hand on your thigh.
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Through the scope, there are no kingdoms, no factions, no words. Just the pulse of prey moving against the weight of silence. The sniperâs eye finds it, drinks it in, studies the rhythm. Every gesture, every careless breath, every twitch of a hand is recorded, measured, anticipated.
His own body obeys a different law in these moments. The breath slows. The heartbeat grows heavy in his chest, each thud echoing like a drum in a cave. The finger rests against cold steel, not yet commanded, but ready. Muscles coil, honed by years, as steady as stone yet alive with the tension of the strike.
The predator lives here, just behind the calm. Waiting. Patient.
Then comes the stillness. The breath halts, held between ribs as if the whole world is asked to stop with it. For that single suspended instant, the distance between hunter and hunted is gone. Two lives, one eye behind the glass and one oblivious within its circle, tied together by nothing more than the weight of a fingertip.
And then the choice to end it.
The surrender.
The shot.
The world exhales with the rifle, and the silence shatters like glass.
Sometimes, I catch myself thinking about it... what if the contract had ever fallen on him? What if Lukelâs name had been scrawled in black ink on thin parchment, laid at my feet as so many others have been? I can see it so clearly. The glass rising to my eye, the crosshairs settling against that starlit skin, my breath drawing down to stillness. His figure caught perfect in the circle. The way it always is. The way it has to be.
But him⊠no. Him, I know it would have been different. I can almost see the moment Mizereemâs pale eyes would have turned, unhurried and unflinching, meeting mine through the scope as though heâd known I was there all along. That gaze white as bone, stripped of all warmth would have cut through the calm Iâve trained into every sinew of myself. I would have felt the tremor, the slip, the hesitation that no hunter can afford. He would have pierced me before the bullet ever left the chamber.
And gods, the worst of it is I know Iâd have felt the same thing then that I feel now. The way my chest stutters, the way my blood rushes sharp and hot, the way something ancient inside me bows its head in recognition. Even if Iâd never touched him, never heard his voice, never known his name, that heartbeat would still have betrayed me. That inevitability. That pull. Even the Butcher, especially the Butcher, would have undone me and Iâd never have understood why until it was far too late.
Every year, these two geese come to my backyard and prepare to have their babies in the exact same spot. They arrived today!!! đI'm excited to see the new arrivals!! I don't disturb them at all. After they're done, I mow the lawn. Until then, my backyard is their's đđ