supernatural one-shots [requests closed] UNDER EDITING

dean winchester || first textual experience pt. 6

|| edited

     "Oh God," you breathe.

     Cop cars surround David Abrams's home, the red and blue lights twinkling against the dark night sky.

     "Let's go see what happened, I guess," you tell Dean reluctantly as you unbuckle your seat-belt.

     Dean frowns and stares at the house. "Yeah. I'd bet the Impala that Sammy's right, and the guy committed suicide."

     Your heart swells with admiration for Dean's loyalty and you smile softly. "You really do trust him a lot, don't you?"

     Dean looks at you curiously. "Well... yeah."

     You laugh. "It's cute."

     Dean's face flashes surprise for a moment, and you realize oh God, you actually said that out loud.

     But the man only smiles crookedly and replies, "A lot of things I do are."

     And with that, he opens the car door and begins to walk over to an officer. You stare at him in admiration, mouth agape. You can't believe you said that.

     But you also can't believe he didn't react with complete disgust and discomfort.

     You shake your head, trying to chase off the thoughts. You know what Dean would tell you. Stop it, you're on a job. You need to get your pretty little head in the game and focus on the hunt at hand. Now is not the time to worry about middle-school crushes.

     You slide out of the Impala and take a few long strides over to Dean, who's conversing with a cop.

     "Ah, and here she is!" Dean segues, turning to you. "We were just talking about you, Officer Vedder."

     "Thank you," you say, smiling and nodding at the officer. "So what exactly happened here?"

     "Well," begins the officer, setting her feet a shoulder-length apart and lifting her chin, looking down at you. "It's just a simple suicide." She narrows her eyes at you and Dean. "So I'm not sure why the Feds are here." She hesitates. "Can I see some identification?"

     You look to Dean and give him an exasperated look, for the sake of performance, as you slide your fake ID out of you back pant pocket. Sighing, you hold out your badge for the police officer to see. Dean follows suit.

     She examines your IDs and doesn't notice anything wrong. She makes an agitated face and leads you and Dean to the crime scene, per your request. You climb the front steps to David Abrams's house for the second time that day and pass through the front door.

     The cop leads you to the living room and you bite back the gasp that rises in your throat.

     The living room that you were standing in five hours ago is now the site of a crime scene. Cops stand in corners having quiet conversations. Forensics teams scurry about, snapping pictures of David's bloody body. Bloody streaks decorate his arms.

     "Well, it's definitely a suicide," Dean mutters to you. "It fits the pattern." Louder, he tells the cop, "You were right. Just a suicide. Nothing fishy. Sorry to bother you, miss."

     The cop glares at him. He grabs your bicep and leads out of the living room and to the foyer. Before you leave, Dean reaches for your cardigan and pulls it with you out the door.

     He drapes the sweater over your shoulders as you two walk to the Impala. "Milady."

     You grin. "Very warm. Very toasty. Too bad it doesn't get rid of the chills I got from seeing that body."

     Dean snorts. "You're a hunter, you act like you've never seen worse."

     You both climb into the Impala and Dean revs the engine.

     "Yeah," you murmur. "But it doesn't get old."

     Dean looks at you sadly, even though you thought he didn't hear. "I know."