This Nightmare Called Love [Dean Winchester]

Chapter One

They say the eyes are the gateway to the soul. If that holds any validity, I can't even begin to imagine what my soul must look like to others. At least what's left of it. Then again, they also say that blood is thicker than water and that hasn't always been the case for me.

I pull off of the interstate and into a small town gas station, running at about half a tank. The prices are high this time of year, but the money is worth it to keep my Darling up and running smoothly. Having just finished a case involving some nasty and messy creatures, I'm debating getting a car wash as well. I pull around and line the car up on pump two. I dig my wallet out of the center console and pull put a twenty before heading inside and grabbing the energy drink pumped full of the most sugar and caffeine. After purchasing it, I instruct the cashier to put the rest of the cash on pump two as I pop open the drink. I step back outside but pause.

"Can I help you?" I slowly walk back over to my car, some guy in a leather jacket walking around it and inspecting it.

He turns around and the first thing I notice are his eyes, deep and an enticing shade of green. But they're also dull, his soul worn down with years of hardships. His eyes lighten in surprise momentarily before he regains composure. "Oh, no, I was just admiring this fine car you have here. What year is it?"

"It's a '69." I play along, recognising the dullness in his eyes as something only a hunter wears. I only know it because it's the same thing I see every time I look in the mirror.

He smiles. "I thought so. See that baby over there?" He points to a sleek black Chevy Impala on pump four, probably a '67 or '68.

"Yeah?"

"That beauty is mine. She's a '67 and the way that engine of hers runs..." He smiles even wider. "Mm-hm."

I give a small nod in agreement, walking over to the other side of my car and unscrewing the gas cap before sliding in the nozzle. I pull back the handle and look back up at him. "She is a beauty."

He nods and walks over, extending his hand. "The name's Dean, Dean Winchester."

"Ember." I shake his hand, using those few seconds to take a closer look at him. He's wearing faded jeans, boots, flannel, and a leather jacket on top. His sandy blond hair goes well with his eyes and he has a bit of stubble on his jaw to complete the "muscled hunter" look. He's a pretty good looking man but my suspicions about his profession are only further confirmed. It's in his stance and his voice as much as it's in his eyes. He reeks of years of hunts and hardships and I bet his evenings aren't complete until he's had copious amounts of alcohol of some sort.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful lady."

I can't help a small smile at the compliment. "Down boy."

He chuckles and raises his hands slightly in mock surrender. "I'm just saying."

I finish pumping the gas and replace the nozzle before screwing the gas cap back on and closing it. "Well, Dean, it's been a pleasure meeting you, but I've got to get back on the road. Caught wind of a case up in Montana that sounds an awful lot like a vamp nest and I don't want to give them all the time in the world to keep dropping bodies."

He loses his composure momentarily and the shock is clear on his face. He quickly recovers, clearing his throat before speaking again. "How did you--"

"Know?" He nods. "It's in your eyes," I say, sort of gesturing to my own. "I would recognize it in anyone's."

He nods slightly again. "Well, if you want, me and my brother Sam could come help you. We've got nothing better to do and from the looks of it, you don't have any backup."

I mull over his words. I haven't hunted with a partner in a very long time, years in fact, and I don't really know if it would be a good idea to let them come with, two strangers and one of whom I haven't even met yet. But then I glance up at Dean again, looking in his eyes and I get this feeling in my gut. He might have the same dullness as I do, but unlike most of the hunters I've come across in my career so far, I feel as though I can relate to him somehow. I feel like I can trust him. Call it instinct or even fate, but I find myself agreeing to let them come with. Maybe it's about time I get back into the habit of trusting and hunting with a partner again. So long as no deep attachments are formed. Ever.

"All right." I pull a piece of paper out of my car and quickly scribble down the name of the town the case is in, the address of the local police station, and one of my burner phone numbers just in case. "See you there in five hours time." I hand it to him and then climb into my car before I give myself enough time to reconsider. Dean gives a small smile and nods, waving a bit before walking back over to his own car. I've had far too many close calls these past few months and if I'm not more careful, that if I don't start trusting people and hunting with back up... Then things aren't going to end well for me.

I pull out and get back on the interstate, gripping my steering wheel tightly. It's a good thing I didn't ask for his phone number otherwise I probably would've called him up almost immediately and told him to just cancel.

"This is a good thing. This is a good thing." I have to repeat it to myself over and over, but it doesn't settle the knots in my stomach over the thought of working with complete strangers. If this doesn't end well, I'm going to be kicking myself in the rear for years to come. At least I can rest assured that they're capable hunters, from what I've heard about them passed on from hunter to hunter. Usually hunters don't spin their tales beyond believability.

I sigh and turn up the radio to distract myself. Motley Crue comes on and I sing along to the lyrics, eventually relaxing back into my seat.

Maybe this won't be so bad after all.