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The net had been cast, the line flung, and the bait set… Now you had to wait. Well... not really.
It was all shades of stupid and if you were honest to yourself, somewhat embarrassing. You were here for a case. Well, a solved case really, but the murder that had brought you to town had led you into a totally unexpected situation, one you'd never thought you would find yourself in.
Rewind to a couple days back when you had read an article about dead bodies recovered in a town in Missouri. Throat ripped out, blood drained, your typical vampire signs. But by the time you had landed your ass in that town, the case had been obviously taken care of. The sheriff had given you a once over, asking whether the Feds were really that jobless? Apparently, three other Feds were on the case already. After some questioning about them, the guy had finally caved in, letting you know about Special Agents Plant and Page, and another by the name of Agent Van Pelt.
That was your eureka moment. Plant and Page; you knew those aliases and who used them. Could it really... could it possibly be them? And that’s how you ended up in the bar. You were looking for one Dean Winchester.
Who was Dean Winchester one might ask? He was the guy who saved the god damned world. Who along with his brother had taken on the Devil himself and put him down. Who had died and come back multiple times to save all of the world's sorry asses.
Oh, the legends told about him! He had sold his soul for his brother and endured years of torture in hell, he had killed Dick Roman, the top slot Leviathan. Apparently, when Dean walked in, the monsters knew they were on a one-way journey to purgatory. And as far as Purgatory went, Dean had survived that too. The man was a freakin hero if any. You had tried multiple times to find the Winchesters, but they never stopped by at the hunter’s circle, and all your effective tracking always left you one step behind them. After years and years of trying to find your idol, you had given up. Sometimes you couldn't help but think that maybe they were just myths after all… until now.
The fangirling and borderline-stalking, at least, had given you some pointers to go with. The boys always used band name aliases. Plant and Page. If there was any possibility of you finding them, any at all, this might be it. This might be your day. You could finally meet Dean Winchester. You had to... the alternative was heartbreaking.
So here you were, sitting in a shady booth in the only bar in this small town, looking for Dean. A hunter you knew, knew another hunter who had once met Dean in a bar. According to him, the Winchesters, the older one at least celebrated successful hunts with a bottle of whiskey. From the little you had heard, he was the ladies’ man, an alpha male who owned the place when he walked in, which was completely fine with you because it perfectly coincided with the image you had painted in your head.
For all your hero-worship, you had no idea what the man looked like. It wouldn't have taken much really. A few years back, they had been all over the scanner. But anyone who has ever harboured a crush on a celebrity, or an unattainable entity would attest to how they are too afraid to delve deeper into the personalities, afraid of finding something they wouldn't like, afraid of stumbling upon something that did not fit the image they had drawn in their mind. Just so, the Dean in your head was tall and really broad, all muscles, with multiple tattoos and ragged scars. He wore black leather jackets and had long unruly brown hair which he tamed with a bandana. He would ride around in the fabled Impala and pick chicks up like nobody's business. Handsome? Maybe, but whether he was good-looking or not, he was already perfect to you. The features kept muddling up though. One day he wore a sleeveless jacket, the other day he had a roguish smile. The one thing, however, that never changed were the eyes. Screw the colour; but when you dreamed of Dean, he always had the most piercing eyes. They shone with the intensity of what he had been through.
You had never given much thought to Sam. Truth be told, you were afraid of him. From what you knew, he was pretty hefty. That combined with the fact that he had literally been Lucifer's vessel was enough to freak you out. So Sam stayed faceless. Good, but faceless.
Those thoughts swirled in your head as you waited with bated breath; excited, and high on anticipation. The whole deal made you extremely fidgety, and you hated it. You didn't want to stutter in front of him if he really did turn up.
That's when he did turn up. Dark leather jacket, pants and shoes, probably 5' 10" or 5' 11". Tall enough. He didn't really have long hair, just floppy but still shorter than you expected. A tattoo peeked from underneath the collar of his jacket. His ears were pierced, so was his eyebrow. Piercing? Well… you hadn't really ruled that out. He immediately went over to the bar, without making a halt, without allowing you to take a good look at his face. Dammit!
You wanted to go over to him and turn the damn stool around so you could take a good look at him, but instead, you were stuck staring at the back of his very red neck, trying to find your Dean in the outrageously thick muscles. He looked like a biker. But no one in the otherwise crowded bar resembled a hunter. Most of them were boisterously enjoying the Friday evening.
"May I have a seat?" A deep voice interrupted your inspection. "Everywhere else is taken."
"Yeah sure," you waved impatiently, not taking your eyes off the Dean suspect.
"Know that guy?" The man who was now sitting opposite to you asked.
"No, but I hope to know him."
"C'mon sweetheart," he said, tone cocky, "You can do so much better than that."
For the first time since the Dean suspect had stepped inside, you tore your eyes from him, because no one talked about Dean Winchester like that in front of you. You turned around to face the guy with every intention to send him packing, but instead, the words got lost somewhere.
His eyes killed your voice. They were, without doubt, the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen, as green as the brightest of emeralds, and piercing like they looked into your very soul.
"What?" You asked, somehow managing to completely forget a certain hunter.
"I said, you deserve better than some douchebag in a leather jacket who can't get a single pickup line straight."
"Excuse me," you exclaimed, managing to pull yourself out of the enigma that were his eyes. "I look up to him." The impressive glare you were aiming for, required you to give him a disdainful once over. But that went down the drain the moment your eyes focused on him. Geez, the guy was hot. No other way to say it. He was just incredibly hot. And just like that, you were lost again... until he spoke again.
"That guy?" He scoffed. "You don't look like a biker gang reject."
"That guy is my hero. You watch your mouth, Mister." Oh, you were watching that mouth alright.
The guy looked over towards the probable Dean again, as if failing to see your point.
'"I don't get it," he finally muttered. "What do you see in him? What did he even do to be your hero?"
"He saved the godforsaken world," you snapped, turning away from the ridiculous perfection sitting before you. He was extremely distracting, and a tad bit annoying. You didn't have time for this right now.
"Him? Saved the world?" Disbelief coloured his voice and you looked at him once more.
"Yeah, believe it or not, he did." You probably shouldn't have said it. The guy was a civilian, what would he know? But his smug expression hit you in all the wrong places. You somehow felt the need to defend Dean. "He's saved all our miserable lives more than once."
"I would probably know him then," green-eyes challenged.
"You wouldn't. He's the classic hero. Not the one to show off."
"Try me." An eyebrow raise.
"He's… He's…" Wait, Dean had been a wanted criminal at some point in his life. How wise was it be to give away his name? Besides, you had no idea who the hottie was.
"That's what I thought," he said, smirking, making your blood boil in the process.
Take the high road, Y/N, take the high road.
"So what does your hero do?" He asked, taking a long swig of his beer. The way his lips wrapped around the mouth of the damned bottle could be classified as NSFW. You briefly considered how they would feel over yours. Would be too bad if you took the guy home tonight? Well, he had been hitting on you. hadn't he? But Dean was more important... and your one in a hundred opportunity tonight.
"None of your business," you retorted.
"C'mon, give a guy a break," he said, leaning forward.
You caved. "We work in the same business.”
"And that would be?"
"Hunting," you said. That didn't give away much right.
"Hunting huh," he raised an eyebrow again. Boy, that thing was sculpted by God himself. That, and those sinful lips.
"Don't judge what you don't know.”
"Now I really wanna know that guy's name," he gestured towards the Dean suspect.
You could see he wasn't going to shut up, but you didn't want him to get up and leave either. It wasn’t every day that guys this hot struck up a conversation with you.
"Fine," you gave in. "His name’s Dean Winchester."
There was an immediate sputtering as the man choked on his bear, coughing to get his bearing.
"Dean Winchester? You think that is Dean Winchester?" He managed as the coughing fit subsided. He looked outraged.
"You know him?"
"What? What- No!" Yep, definitely miffed.
"You know what? Whatever! You won't understand it."
"I'm willing to listen if you care to explain," he said slowly. "I do know what you mean when you say hunters," he winked, still looking visibly mollified.
"Oh… You're the fake agent Van Pelt!"
"Wha-…. uh, yeah."
"Then how do you not know about Dean fucking Winchester?"
"I've heard of the guy," he shrugged, expression carefully constructed to appear nonchalant
"Of course, you have! He’s a freaking legend!" You smacked the table with both your palms in all your excitement.
"Sure," he snorted, taking another swig.
His sarcastic, indifferent attitude pissed you off again. "Of course, he is. The things he’s done! He's defeated Lucifer, killed that dick, Dick, and Eve and about every other thing out there.
"Well first off, Sam’s the one who took the nosedive with the Devil, and there was a lot of help all the time."
"Why are you so against the guy?" You asked. It didn't seem like jealousy. He just genuinely seemed to think less of Dean.
"Am I?" He murmured, more to himself than to you.
"Yeah. He’s awesome. So, you can suck it up!"
"You don't even know the guy," he countered, leaning further into you. "For all you know, he could be a grade-A asshat."
"I know he is not. I've met someone who knows him, and from what I heard, he has a heart of gold."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I know stuff, okay?" You said, conspiratorially. You were so close now that you could count the freckles on his nose. "I know their story. How their mom died, and how John raised the boys like soldiers. So, Sam’s the rebellious sort and he went away on his own, but never Dean. He was the ideal son, loyal to the fault. He even sold his soul to bring his brother back from the dead. He’s selfless, and even though he comes across as a tough guy, he’s a big softie inside."
"Whoa, whoa!" He put up his hands. "Who the hell told you that?"
"Umm… Garth?"
"Figures," he muttered under his breath, trying and failing to not look embarrassed.
"So you know Garth?" You deduced, without waiting for his reply. "But then again, you never know with Garth. Sometimes, I think he’s just making stuff up. He said Dean’s blond."
“What’s wrong with blond?” He asked, slightly offended and self-conscious. It probably had something to do with his own short and unruly dirty blond hair. You briefly wondered how it would feel to run your fingers in them, but you quickly shoved that thought aside.
Before you could reply, the Dean suspect got up from the seat, and you jumped up with him. "Oh no, he's leaving, I gotta catch him," you said, obviously panicked.
Green-eyes grabbed your hand, effectively pulling you back into your seat. "That's not Dean," he said, pointing towards the man who was now out the door.
"How do you know?" You asked, yanking at your hand. "It's my only chance, I'll never find him again."
"Really. That is not Dean Winchester," the guy said. "You really think he’d be a fallout boy crossed with a monster truck driver?"
You slumped against your seat, finally giving in. He was probably right. Someone who had been downstairs and back up would value life and totally give up on leather tights.
"Tell me one thing, why do you wanna meet him so bad?"
"Because in this fucked up world, he’s one of the only men who’s selflessly done only good," you sighed. "I've met monsters, and people worse than them. I've met hunters who've made killing the sole purpose of their life, and I've wondered whether living like that… just killing for the heck of it, makes them any better? And then there's Dean. All these stories that I've heard, about how he’s only tried to do what’s right, give me faith. He gives me hope that maybe what we do isn't that bad after all."
"He's screwed shit up, too, you know?" There was an ancient melancholy in his eyes. A sadness that was too profound for such beautiful eyes.
"Don't you see, that's what makes him even better! We all fuck up, but hardly anyone dares to own up to it, let alone fix it like he does. He hurts and bleeds and breaks just like everyone, but he puts himself back together every time so the world can know some peace. It's what makes him human… It’s what makes him a hero...It's what makes me l-like him so much."
"Like huh?" One side of his lips quirked up.
"Yeah. Bite me!" You snapped, crossing your arms below your chest. He wasn’t judging you, but the look he gave you still made you feel shy somehow, and you couldn't help but get lost in his eyes again. In your defence, the man was beautiful. Whatever mood he had come in, how much ever he had annoyed you with all his doubts regarding Dean, he was looking oddly happy now. Maybe you could ask him for his number? Would that be too bad? But for that, you'd probably need his name.
"Umm… hey," you started, "What is your name anyway?"
He looked at you sheepishly, hand scratching the back of his neck. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get a word out, he was interrupted, as a big hand landed on top of your table.
"Dude, where were you? One minute you're there and the next minute you're out of the diner. I've been looking for you everywhere!"
You looked towards the owner of the hand, only to find a giant of a person with amazing hair, peering down at the green eyes. He was facing away from you, but you could only imagine the annoyed look on his face.
"Sammy!" The Greek god in front of you nodded in your direction. "I've got company."
The tall guy turned towards you, visibly flustered. Apparently, he hadn't noticed you. He was really good-looking, too. Was the town holding a male modelling competition or something?
He smiled at you apologetically, before hissing at the hottie. "We need to get back to work, Dean!"
Dean? DEAN? WHAT THE FUCK?
"Uhhh…" Dean looked at you once, obviously embarrassed. "Just give us a minute will you, Sam?"
"Fine," said... Sam.
"Hey, you never introduced yourself," Dean asked you.
You said nothing. The ability to talk was overrated anyway. So, it did not surprise you that now would be the time when it abandoned you.
"I…I… Uhhh... Y/N…" you somehow stuttered. This couldn't be. You wanted to dig up a hole right there and bury your head inside like an Ostrich. Being completely swallowed by the earth wouldn’t be too bad by this point either.
"Well… I'm Dean," Dean said stretching out a hand as he got to his feet. "And this is my brother Sam."
Sam waved once, smiling at you. "Nice to meet you, Y/N.”
Your hand shook as you held his. The calloused fingers felt like they belonged. Suddenly he leaned down, closer to you than ever before. Close enough for you to feel his hot breath on your face, close enough so he could whisper in your ear. "Sorry for being such a dick, but I just didn't know how to break it to you. I'm not as awesome as you make me sound, but if you give me the opportunity, I'd sure love to try to be that awesome, and make a fool of myself in the process."
He paused then, before continuing. "Sammy’s being a pain in the ass. He wants to go back and burn the vamp bodies in the nest. But can I see you again? Same time here, tomorrow?"
He straightened then, and you really got to see what Dean Winchester looked like. He was really tall, at least 6 feet or maybe a bit more, and was dressed in a simple Crimson flannel and faded blue jeans. A black t-shirt peeked from beneath his shirt where the button had been left undone and you could see the tell-tale bulge of a gun at his hip. He looked simple. He looked breathtaking. Up until now, you’d never known that those two concepts could be the same thing.
In all the while that you had spent telling Dean about just how human Dean was, you had forgotten the whole damn deal yourself. Your tenacity over the image in your head had led you to completely forget that he was a person of his own. Your imagination hadn’t done justice to the masterpiece that he was.
“Well?” he asked, trepidation in his voice. He was still waiting for your answer, unsure of himself. How in the name of hell could he be better than what you thought? Because you had always thought of him as the best!
You simply nodded, still unable to find your voice.
He grinned then. Was he blushing? "I'll see you tomorrow," he winked as he stepped back. "And Van Pelt? He was actual FBI."
With one last shy smile, he was out of the door. You could be wrong, but he’d seemed reluctant to leave.
It took you a few minutes to assimilate what had just occurred, and when you did, a loud and very un- Y/N- ish whoop left your lips. And then you were giggling, giggling like the proverbial high school teenager who just got asked out by her first crush. Except this wasn't just any crush, this was Dean frigging Winchester. You were going on a date with your hero. Apparently, dreams did come true!