Super UNatural

"Baby"

Given recent events, Dean was not excited about this next hunt.

Bobby had just called Sam, interrupting our dinner in the slightly haunted kitchen of the bunker. Sam started to get up and leave the room, but seeing Bobby's name light up the phone, Dean protested that Bobby be put on speaker.

        "Bobby, Bobby, what's happening man?" Dean throws his burger in its wrapper, half smiling, and half grateful to have some noise to fill the awkward silence.
       "Hey kid," Bobby sighs. "I figured Sam and I could get some alone time on this chat, don't mind do you?"
       "What happened to 'no chick flicks' Bobby? Got something you wanna say?" Dean raised his eyebrows, and re-positioned himself to where both elbows were now on the table, and his hands clasped into each other, supporting his chin.

Sam immediately darts his eyes to meet mine, opening his eyelids more, and scrunching his lips together, a frequent look he gives when needing help. He picks up his phone to speak clearly into the microphone.

        "Bobby, Sam here. It's okay, we should let Dean in on this. He says he's ready to work so let's work."
Dean nods slightly, stands up, and walks to the fridge and pulls out two beers. He opens them both, hands me one, flips his chair around, sits, and leans against the back towards the table. 

Bobby goes on to explain the symptoms of a for-sure demon problem in Minnesota. I was studying Dean's body language. His nostrils flared as he nodded and listened to Bobby, taking sips of his bottle faster than I could take my first.
Dean finally looks at me, avoiding eye contact, so I keep my head straight towards Sam. Through my peripheral vision, I notice Dean looking my body up and down, and I'm slightly confused. Was it the sixth beer doing the eyeing, or did Dean really just check me out? Did I see what I just think I saw?
I've been hanging around the Winchesters for about a year now. We met when we ran into each other in Arkansas for a vampire nest hunt. I easily spotted the fake FBI agents when Dean had greeted me as "James Hetfield", the frontman of Metallica. Once our true colors were established, the boys and I started hitting some jobs together. After we had saved each other's asses quite a few times, we'd begun sharing a hotel room on a few hunts, until they eventually asked me to move in. Dean had said that I wouldn't have to pay rent, and would keep them company.

Neither Sam or Dean had treated me like a sister, but rather one of "the guys". I didn't mind, seeing as how they'd saved me from the financial stresses I had accumulated from being on the road. The Winchesters' had balls, especially when it came to pulling the credit card scams the way that they did. They'd always picked up my tabs without batting an eye, unaware of how much they were helping me. They both seemed to care about me in a way, but Dean acted more like a gentleman courting a woman than a relative.

My mind wandered, Bobby's voice fading as I edged further into my consciousness. All those times Dean had slightly touched me, am I overthinking? Moving past him in a tight space, his hand grabbing my hip to gently push me aside. Him grabbing my shoulders and pulling me backwards when I've had a few too many, about to walk into the men's room.
I was dissociating now, feeling a warmth to my face, and suddenly a wetness in my pants. Maybe that fourth drink of Jack Daniels wasn't the best decision tonight.

Dean smacks the table, jolting me out of my fantasy, and he stood up to grab another drink.

        "Sam, you drivin'? I'm afraid Lucy and I wouldn't make it past a breathalyzer if need be."

Sam nods, stands up to clear the table of dinner, and we all head to our rooms to pack. It was only five o'clock, but the drive was about nine hours. I had no idea how long we'd be in Minnesota, so I stuffed my duffel full of extra t-shirts and undies. Funny how a thong or two made it into the bag. Maybe it's the drinks talking, but I'm hoping to get laid this time around. Dean usually kicks Sam and I out of our room whenever we get a win on a hunt, he likes to celebrate with his recent catch at some dive-bar. Who knows? Maybe I'll be the one doing the kicking out of the hotel room this weekend.