Dean Winchester's phone rang just as he was about to grab a beer from the fridge. "Hey, Jen. Long time. Business or pleasure?" He grinned, hoping that this was a pleasure call, rather than a case.
"Hey, Dean. Both, I guess." She sounded off. "Are you at the bunker?"
"Yeah, what's wrong? Do you need help? Are you working a case?"
"No, the case is over." She paused. "But I could use a friend. I'm not too far from you guys. Would you mind? Are you busy?"
Dean was surprised. Jen was a hunter, and a good one. He and Sam had worked several cases with her before, and they both trusted her. She was tough, careful, and no-nonsense, but they always had a good time together afterwards, sharing a few drinks and a few laughs. She and Dean had occasionally shared more than that, too. But he had been teasing, asking if her call was business or pleasure. She had never called to just ask for companionship before. There was definitely something wrong.
"No, we're not busy. Do you want me to grab Sammy and Cas, too? Or just me?"
"Just you, if that's OK. I want company, but I'm not actually feeling social. I think you're one of the only people I know that might understand that."
He got the address from her, and then asked, "Should I bring booze?" Jen was a good drinking buddy.
She surprised him and said, "No. There isn't enough booze in the world for this, and I'm afraid where my head will go if I start."
"I'm on my way."
****
Dean rolled up to the crappy motel and knocked on Room 14. The door opened and he saw the barrel of a pistol before he saw the woman holding it. She was wearing jeans and a white tank top, and looked as if she had recently gotten out of the shower, as her light brown hair was still slightly damp around her shoulders. The gun was small, but it was a 9mm, and the woman holding it was a damn good shot. "Come in, Dean." She gestured with the pistol to the small table. "You know the drill."
The table held a shot glass of what Dean assumed was holy water, a small bowl holding salt, and a silver knife. There was also what appeared to be a broken locket off to the side. He drank the water, licked his finger, got some salt on it, licked it off, and then made a small cut on his hand with the silver knife. Jen relaxed and put the gun down.
"Where's your flask?"
"I don't think that's necessary, Jen."
She raised the gun again. "Yes, it is, Dean. Get out your flask of holy water, and make me do these things, too." He looked at her, surprised, but started the process. "Don't get complacent. I sometimes think that dealing with apocalyptic things and hanging around with Castiel makes you forget that the little stuff can kill you, too." She drank, licked and cut, and then tossed the gun into a bag by the bed with an uncharacteristic carelessness. Dean knew that she was meticulous and careful with her weapons. It was something they had in common.
She came over and hugged him. "Thank you for coming."
Dean hugged her back, his 6'1" frame topping hers by a good five inches. He backed up and smiled at her with his distinctive charm, his green eyes twinkling, trying to find some of her usual good humor. Her smile in return was strained, though, and he said, "OK, Jen, no booze, but what else can I do for you?"
"I don't want to be me tonight. I don't want this," she gestured around. "I need to forget our job, Dean. Just for a little bit." She looked a little haunted. "I need to forget. I need to feel something different. I need to feel... normal, I guess?" Her laugh was a little bitter. "Like either of us would know what that was."
Dean joined her in a dark chuckle. "Darlin', you called the wrong person if you were looking for someone to help you feel normal." He put his arms around her, and said, "But if you're looking for distraction, that I would be happy to help with."
He was rewarded with a smile. "Yes, distraction. That's a good word. But a really good distraction. Like," she struggled to find a way to put a concept into words, "role playing? 'Hey honey, how was your day?' 'Great, nothing happened at the office.' 'I love you so much because we have normal lives,' kind of role playing."
Dean looked almost shocked for a moment, and then said, "OK. Got it." And with his familiar charisma, he swept her into his arms, and said, "Hey, honey, I'm home. I'm just gonna hit the bathroom and them I'm going to make sweet love to you."
Jen chuckled, and Dean kissed her on the nose, and then walked into the bathroom. He stopped and stared when he got inside the door. It looked like a crime scene. Dean has originally just come in to use the bathroom and remove some weaponry -- he figured having several concealed firearms and blades on his person didn't lend itself to the role playing that Jen had asked for -- but the sight of towels and clothing covered in blood and something else that he couldn't immediately identify brought him back to the reason she called in the first place. This was, again, so out of character for her. There was also blood still in the shower, and there was a gun lying discarded in the pile of clothing, also covered in blood and other things. If he wasn't mistaken, it was her Glock 19, which was her very favorite gun. That would also explain the smaller gun that she was holding when she opened the door. That would have been her Glock 43, that she normally had tucked in the holster in the small of her back.
He had been doing this long enough to make the educated guess that this was probably the result of a shifter hunt -- he was pretty sure if he checked the Glock he would find it loaded with silver bullets. But that wasn't why he was here, and whatever had happened she clearly didn't want to talk about it. Sam would have asked questions; Dean wouldn't. It was one of the reasons that she and Dean got along so well.
Dean finished up, washed his hands, stacked his weapons neatly to the side, and came back out into the room. Jen turned to him, and he could see her relief when he said nothing about the condition of the bathroom. Whatever had happened, she would either tell him or she wouldn't. She wanted him to help her forget. He was happy to oblige, no questions asked.
He pulled her to him, and kissed her slowly, moving his hand up into her hair. Jen sighed and leaned into the kiss, moving her hands to his chest. He was muscular and fit, and she let her hands roam along the muscles of his chest, up to his broad shoulders and back down his ribs, and then around to his back. Their parted lips were moving together in a sensuous dance, and when Dean touched his tongue along hers it was more thrilling than she expected.
