The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Page count: 7

Two days later...

"I got an owl today," Hermione said quietly as she and Dean settled beneath the covers, curling into each other in their motel bed in Durham, North Carolina. They'd start investigating a possible ghost possession in the morning, but for now, it was just them, warm and half-drowsy in the dark.

"When? I never saw an owl," Dean murmured, pulling her tight against his chest. His amusement flickered when she burrowed into him like she was trying to fuse their bodies together.

Yeah—she was a kitten.

Fast, graceful, craftier than anyone he'd ever met... and affectionate in ways she didn't even realise she showed. But one wrong move and she'd hiss, claw, and snarl like the tiny homicidal gremlin she was.

"When you went to get dinner," she said with a shrug. "It was from Kingsley."

His hand paused midway down her spine, fingers curling against the warm skin beneath his shirt—his shirt—where she liked to sleep wrapped in his scent.

"What'd it say? You've got a case?"

"No." She shook her head faintly. "It was to inform me that my presence is required back in England."

That froze him completely.

"...Why?"

"I'm needed to testify against those who were captured during the battle," she explained softly. "The MLE finally finished processing the prisoners and trials are about to begin. And while I'm back, I need to call a quarterly meeting and help train some new recruits."

He didn't move. He didn't breathe.

"When are you leaving?" he asked carefully, "and how long will you be gone?"

"He needs me back in England by the end of next week," she said. "I shouldn't be gone more than two weeks."

There was silence.

Hermione felt it—that shift in the air, the invisible clench of fear he would never openly admit to. Dean Winchester was many things: reckless, brave, cocky, self-sacrificing... but confident enough to believe people stayed?

Never.

"Will you come back?" he asked finally, voice steady but too calm—dangerously calm. The kind of calm people used when they were bracing for a hit they'd already accepted.

Hermione's chest tightened.

He wasn't afraid of monsters. He wasn't afraid of death. He was afraid of her leaving him.

She immediately cupped his jaw, pressing a firm kiss beneath it—right over the place her lips always soothed him most—and she felt his breath stutter against her forehead.

"As soon as I can," she whispered. "I'll come back to you."

His arms wrapped around her instantly, fiercely, like he needed to hold her close enough to believe her.

And she let him. Because she meant it. More than she'd meant anything in a long time.

~000~000~000~

Two days later...

"What the hell is a Grindylow?" Dean frowned, slouched on a park bench in Huntington, West Virginia. They were surrounded by squealing kids, frazzled parents, and the shrill whistle of a distant ice-cream truck. It was the least supernatural-feeling place imaginable—except apparently it wasn't.