The Girl With A Past ((Completed))

Brother

((Dean))

Dean pulled the impala over to the side of the road, asian-looking people walking back and forth beside it. He got out, looking around uncertainly. It looked like he'd just strolled right into Chinatown. He pulled a folded up piece of paper out of his jacket pocket, unraveling it and glancing at the numbers. 230 Keefer. He looked up to the number on the building. 230.

"Ah, you gotta be kidding me." Dean muttered, glancing around before entering the shop. ((Just a little note, as I was typing this, I accidentally typed 'ship' instead of 'shop' and I just about died! xD Carry on.))

To his left, Dean saw a man tossing a severed animal leg onto the counter to chop it, and he just about gagged. But he ignored it, approaching him awkwardly. "Hi, I'm, uh, looking for-"

The man seemed to know what he was saying, because he pointed his knife to the back of the shop. "Follow all the way back." He instructed. Dean pointed to the back, glancing over there. "All the way back." He repeated.

Dean nodded, sighing, and left the man to his work, walking cautiously to the back of the building. He walked a narrow hallway, until he reached a plain door. Dean slowly walked up the stairs, putting his hand on the railing, but quickly pulling it back. The wood was slimy, like it hadn't been cleaned in years. Dean wiped his palm on his jacket, coming around the corner to see an old man coming out of a door.

"Dean Winchester?" He asked, squinting his eyes through his glasses. His gray and white hair was unkempt, and he was wearing a dirty, white lab coat over his regular clothes. Dean swallowed when he saw the guy put a bloody rag in his coat pocket.

"Y-You must be... Dr. Robert?" Dean asked, and the man smiled, waving his pointer finger at Dean and chuckling.

"Son," He said as he placed his hands on Dean's shoulders, "I stitched up your daddy more times than I can count. Lemme tell ya, it's good to see ya." His hands were now on Dean's cheeks, shaking them like Dean was five, even though he was significantly taller than Dr. Robert. Dean smiled uncomfortably as he continued. "Course, that was ages ago, back when I still had my medical license." He chuckled. Dean lifted his eyebrows, pretending to look cool, when on the inside he was freaking the freak out. Dr. Robert dropped his hands from Dean's shoulders, waving a finger behind him. "Right this way." He instructed, turning around and leading Dean to a door at the end of the hallway.

Dean admired the decor, the green walls, and old, dirty paintings making him feel out of place. "You know, I'm, uh, no germ freak, but..." He chuckled.

Dr. Robert turned around, shrugging. "Rent's cheap."

Dean nodded, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, before following Dr. Robert through the doorway. He closed the door behind him, glancing around the room. The first thing he saw was the girl. She was wearing mostly all black, her makeup dark, hair dark brown, and she was extracted a liquid from a little glass bottle.

"Eva, my assistant." Dr. Robert introduced her.

Dean smirked, nodding at her. "Hi."

She just held the annoyed look on her face and continued her work. Dean stood awkwardly as the two of them walked around, preparing things. Then the doctor patted the black medical table. "Hop right up."

Dean waved a hand around, slowly approaching the table. "Now you-you have, uh, done this a lot?" He asked nervously.

"Oh, many many times." Dr. Robert answered enthusiastically.

"And your... success rate?"

"Oh, excellent! Almost seventy-five percent!" Dean nodded, though his words sent another jolt of fear through his heart. "So, should we get the, uh, preliminaries out of the way?" He asked.