Chapter 7 : I'm Good

by

      "I can't believe you just did that," I seethed as I watched the sheriff speeding up behind us in the rearview mirror.

     Dean stayed silent as he worked it out in his head. He wouldn't even give me an explanation. One minute I was coming out of the bathroom, grabbing our food, and the next minute I looked out the window, and Dean was rolling around on the ground, throwing punches at the mechanic.

      If it had been under any other circumstances, I probably would have patted him on the back and bought him a beer, but that was our only shot.

     "We gotta go back."

     I looked over at him in shock. "And do what? The sun is already down, and you literally just screwed any chance we had at doing something. "

     "Well, sorry for being the only one with a sensible plan."

     "My plan was sensible."

     He slowed down a bit as we both watched as the sheriff whipped a quick u-turn in the middle of the road, and Dean shook his head. "Torture is not a plan."

     "It's not like I was going to pull their teeth out with pliers or waterboard them. A gun  to the head would have gotten the answers I needed, and you're one to talk about torturing people."

     "Listen," he snapped. "Don't pretend like you know anything about me. I hunt monsters. I kill monsters. I don't hurt people unless it's absolutely necessary."

     "Humans can be monsters too, Dean," I sighed and leaned back in the seat. "I can guarantee there is not one person in that town that doesn't know what is going on."

     He groaned in frustration, and I jolted forward as he slammed on the breaks, my forehead slamming off the dash. Every bit of me wanted to clock him, but the pain intensified behind my eyes, and my long-lost migraine had returned. 

     He gave me a sympathetic look, but it quickly faded as I cursed at him. He threw his hands in the air and groaned in frustration before running them over his tired face.

     "I'm taking you back to the hotel room." He insisted. "I need you to figure out what the hell we are dealing with, and I'll go back, try to get them out of the town alive."

     I shook my head.

     "No way," I said. "This is my hunt. You're not sidelining me."

     "I'm not sidelining you, but you emptied my flask and downed a handful of pain killers."

     "Your point?" I scoffed. "Dean, believe me when I say it takes a lot more than a few shots of shit whiskey and Tylenol to get me drunk. I'm coming with you."

     "One of us has to do the research, Andi," he said, "and I'm better with a gun than I am a laptop."

     I cringed, wanting to bash his head off his steering wheel, but I let it go as he continued to drive, refusing to speak until we got back to my room.

     I cursed and kicked at the door as I did every time I tried to open it. It liked to jam and even though I knew an excellent hard nudge of the shoulder would probably have done the trick, kick it was just so much more therapeutic.

     Dean staggered in moments later with his duffels in his hands, his eyes immediately falling to my bike parked on a tarp in the middle of the room.

     "This is your bike?" He looked it over carefully, and a smile lit across his face as he dropped his bags where he stood.

     I glanced over at the black and chrome Sportster and nodded. "What? Did you think I was lying?"

     He walked in circles around it before running his fingers over the freshly waxed handlebars. "This is a 1976 Ironhead Sportster."

     "Yeah, it was my Dad's." I smiled as he continued to gawk over it.

     He bent down as his hand traced along with the seat and gave me a questionable look before turning his attention to the little setup I had made on the small kitchen table. My laptop was charging, my books were sprawled out, and I scooped up my journal before he had a chance to grab it himself.

     I had spent the last few days slaving over this table. The cluttered styrofoam coffee cups on the counter spoke to every lost hour of sleep, and I was about to lose more as I moseyed around the kitchen, setting the coffee pot for another late night.

     "Alright, well, I should get going."

     I nodded, not bothering to turn around. I wanted to claw his eyes out in the worst way, but I kept my mouth shut and dug around in the take-out bag for the food I didn't get a chance to pay for.

     " eat my pie."

     I smirked, staring down at the two slices of homemade apple crumb in the container. I gave him a thumbs up and waited for the door to close before throwing the whole pie box into the microwave and grabbing a plastic fork from the cupboard.

     If he wanted to sideline me, that was fine. I was more than happy to sit here in silence, reading about the local lore and eating the best damn apple pie I had ever tasted in my life. Though, after three cups of coffee and nothing but dead-end links, I found myself gripping the kitchen sink as another throbbing headache began to pulse behind my eyelids.

     I squeezed the bridge of my nose and sat back down, trying my hardest to concentrate, but the bright light of the computer screen strained my eyes even more. It was useless, and the little information I could find was not worth the pain.

     Sleep wasn't even an option at this point. My body was wide awake and craving adrenaline, even though my head was on a completely different playing field. So, I sat in the dark of the room until a neon light flipped on from outside, and my mind wandered across the street to the little bar I had wanted to visit since I got here.

     It was empty, which wasn't a surprise. This town was so dumpy that I was pretty sure no one could afford a drink, no matter how badly they wanted one.

     I sat at the stool by myself and watched as the bartender cleaned the dusty bottles with a rag. He hadn't said more than two words to me since I had come in, and I honestly quite liked it. The silence was everything to me right now. It was the only way I could actually think without straining to clarify my thoughts.

     I tapped the bar top, slid my glass to the end, and waited for the bartender to refill it. He gave me a small smile, and I nodded, shoving the change in the old man's direction. He glanced up behind me as the door chimed and rolled his eyes as the heavy footsteps came closer.

     "What can I get ya, bud?"

     "Just a beer." The husky voice settled beside me, and I slowly looked up at the young man that took up the barstool next to me. He removed his leather jacket slowly, revealing a muscular arm covered in tattoos down to his knuckles.

     He finally caught my gaze, and I swallowed hard, getting lost in his bright blue eyes.

     "Mind if I sit here," he muttered to me as he slapped a fifty on the table. I moved my jacket from the seat and draped it over the back of mine. "Deno, how about we get another round for this sweet little thing right here."

     I rolled my eyes and laughed. "I'm good, but thanks."

     He eyed me up as I swallowed back the rest of my drink and set it down on top of a few bills.

     "Damn," he muttered as he sipped his beer. "You must really be trying to forget something... or someone." I pursed my lips, trying my hardest to throw of the most uninterested vibes on the planet, but he leaned in closer, and his warm hand slid across my thigh. "How about I help you forget?"

     I reached behind me and went for my gun but cursed silently as I realized I had left it back in the room, and the thought of punching him in his tattooed throat quickly diminished as he gently squeezed my thigh.

     I ran my hand over his tattooed knuckles, and a chill ran down my spine as he released a part of me that I absolutely hated. We stared at each other for what felt like forever, watching as the hunger swelled in his eyes.

     "What's your name?" I shook my head, not wanting to tell him. "I'm P-"

     My finger fell on his plush lips, and I smiled. "I don't wanna know."

     His brow raised, and I grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards me as I quickly decided against head butting him and placed my lips gently on his. He grinned against my lips and slowly pulled away.

     "I'll be right back," he whispered as he leaned forward.

      His long fingers gripped my thigh again, and I felt my body spasm as he rubbed his thumb in circles. I bit my lip. I couldn't help it. Once the need for human touch swelled through me, there was nothing I could do to ease it. It was like a light switch flipped on in my brain, and it took someone else to turn it off.

     I tapped the bar top loudly, gaining an agitated look from Deno, and I shrugged, not caring to apologize for startling him as he poured another straight shot of whiskey in the small glass between my fingers.

     "You don't want to do that, miss," he finally spoke.

     I glanced up at him quizzically, and he nodded towards the bathroom my mysterious lover had slipped into.

    "Thank you for your concern, Deno. I mocked with a smile. "But I'm a big girl. I can handle myself."

     Deno shot me a disgusted look, and I inhaled deeply, knowing damn well he was right. I didn't want to, but my body was telling me otherwise.

     "He's not exactly a gentle soul." 

     "Neither am I." I winked at him and down my shot before standing on to my sore feet. My head rushed, and I gripped the counter as I counted my breaths before I was able to see straight again.

     "Young lady, I reall -"

     I shot him a dark look, and he pulled his hands up in defense. I sighed heavily as I dropped another large bill on the table, and he hesitantly slid it into his apron and sauntered off in a huge.

     Relief washed over me as he let me be, but the adrenaline began to pulse through me again as I turned to see a very sweaty and pissed-off Dean Winchester shove through the door.