Supernatural Sister Imagines

Imagine #59: The British Men Of Letters

This imagine is dedicated to thestrals-

Imagine: The title says it all.

Age: 16

When I woke up, I didn't expect to walk down the hall from my room and be greeted by twice as many boys as I normally was.

A man with a perfectly oriented scruff and glistening, large eyes sat neatly in one of the chairs at the library table, Dean and Sam across from him. Another man with a clean shaven face and interestingly triangular jaw sat beside the first stranger. My gun left my belt before I knew what I was doing and was aimed true for the scruffy man's head.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked firmly as the scruffy and clean men both raised the arms defensively, but their faces remained calm and they did not leave their seats. Sam and Dean whipped around to face me, Sam leaping from his seat to snatch the gun from my grip, holding it out behind him for Dean to take.

"Woah, easy there, tigress. Not enemies." Sam said, grasping my shoulders and leading me to a chair between him and Dean, plopping me forcibly in it and planting himself beside me.

"Now, before I was so rudely interrupted by a gun to my face," I rolled my eyes as the clean-shaven man spoke, but nevertheless I was intrigued by the evident British accent he possessed, "my name is Arthur Ketch, and this is my associate, Mick Davies." The man with scruff gave a small nod.

"We are members of the British Men of Letters." Davies continued for his friend, his gaze to me, "Who are you?"

"The name's Y/n, sorry for trying to shoot you, I guess." I said, sitting up in the seat a little, now interested by these supposed Men of Letters.

"It is quite alright," Ketch said, obviously forcing kindness, "it simply shows you are prepared."

"So what are the British Men of Letters doing in America?" Dean asked, leaning back and propping his booted feet on the table. It was clear by the way these men held themselves; the unmatched perfection of the suits they wore and the utter shock with which they gazed at Dean's boots that they were unaccustomed to us and our American casualty.

"We're here on business," Davies said, tearing his eyes slowly from Dean and instead looking to Sam and I, "We have heard a lot about the Winchester trio, however we did not know that one of them was a female."

"Is that a problem?" I asked almost instantaneously, my voice delivering a sharp bite. I swear I saw Mick flinch.

"No. There are respected and honored woman at work in the British Men of Letters." Ketch spoke up.

"Oh, yeah," I said sarcastically, "I'm sure the ratio of Men to Women of Letters is nothing less than 10:1. I could be a Woman of Letters."

"I certainly hope not!" Ketch couldn't help himself then, and continued despite the glaring look that Mick flashed to him, "To be a Woman of Letters is to have precision, and strength and passion. You are but a child, who has not the experience and wisdom needed to be a Woman of Letters. Where now does your skill precede, girl?" He leaned forward questioningly, and it was hard not to punch him in the face.

     "Whatever." I said instead, leaning back in the seat and crossing my arms, "Why do you want us?"

      "Ah, yes," Ketch said, snapping back into his business formulation and seating himself neatly once again, "We've come to ask of the Winchesters help concerning a case. See, the British Men of Letters aren't as prone to fighting as you barbarians, and we need you."