[1] Rock Salt and Silver | d.winchester

7

"How're we going to explain this to Jane? Mrs Davidson had been left outside by Dean, who told her to grab her two boys and leave the house until further notice. He sat them in his car, a 67 Chevy Impala, which was in fact the most attractive car in Dean and Stevie's opinion, all history. She had to give it to the Winchester, if there was gonna be some sexual attraction to a car, it'd be that goddamn vehicle.

He looks around for a second, shrugging. "We got a bit excitable at the thought of a child?" Stevie tried to keep a straight face and her concern legitimate but the wink he sent her pushed her over the edge. She spluttered out a laugh and slapped him on the shoulder.

"I don't think she'll let us back, I've wrecked two of her rooms now." Dean takes her arm awkwardly and stands her up, ignoring her struggle to prove she can do it on her own.

"We're FBI, she has too." Dean straightens his suit at the declaration, pulling at his collar to prove his point while Stevie examines her own, frowning. The shoes and skirt she wore were still intact, a little dusted from the braking of the cot and all, but they didnt give her the thrown-across-the-room-by-a-poltergeist look.Her top half, however, was bloodied and left in shreds. Her blazer had shards of glass lodged in it while some had sliced through the material and cut through her shirt until it split her skin, leaving a trail of blood in its wake and the navy material crimson. She looked at her sleeve which were splattered in dark patches of drying blood, even her face was speckled with it.

"You're FBI." She clarified, "I'm the dead sidekick you're investigating." Stevie twirls, letting Dean examine her but instead of a breathy laugh, his eyes widen. Realising how much glass was actually buried in her.

"Take your jacket off." His voice was suddenly serious and deep.

"I'm not stripping in a nursery Dean, be a little more sophisticated." He roles his eyes and pulls her out of the room, walking down the stairs and avoiding to touch her back in any way.

The pair apologise to the Davidsons and explained how they'd pay for any damage, at least Stevie gave the suggestion while Dean bit back a groan. They climbed in the impala and went back to their hotel room, thinking it best to change rather than go to the police station bloodied and battered; their FBI cover may be less believable then. Dean handed her his jacket, the brown leather one which happened to be her favourite and also, probably the only jacket she ever saw him wearing. She had thrown it over her cotton shirt, leaving her bloodied blazer in the trunk.

"I should've gone to that guy on my own." The hunter mutters, stood in their crappy bathroom with his hand lightly resting on Stevie's bare shoulder as he pulls out the shards of glass sticking out from her back.

"Excuse me?" Though she was sat with her back to him, Dean could see the face she was pulling; eyebrows raised, her tongue grazing the inside of her cheek and her hazel eyes just slightly amused.

"I should've gone up, you didn't have any weapons, I shouldn't have let you-" Aware she was sat in only a fitted pencil skirt and a bra, Stevie tried to focus on their conversation and not her own embarrassment. She wasn't even sat in a nice bra, it was just one she'd pulled from her rucksack without paying attention to it, just your regular t-shirt bra and she hadn't remembered until she awkwardly pulled off her shirt, wincing as it grazed against the glass in her skin and caught a glimpse of it in the mirror. She turned to face the man behind her, his hands still pressed lightly on her back just above her shoulder blade.

"You're kidding?" Her tone was a mixture of disbelief and anger and Dean was struggling to tell if she was joking or starting to get annoyed at him.

"You didn't have a weapon, we knew there was a poltergeist-"

"Exactly,'we' knew there was poltergeist. If you hadn't noticed, I can do all this on my own."
Definitely annoyed.

"Oh, so that's why you were being strangled to death? Or is that the type of foreplay you're into?"

Stevie hardened her gaze at Dean, squinting until her eyes started to crinkle at the sides. Her eyebrows arched and she pulled abruptly from his grasp, hissing when Dean didn't realise he should move his hand; the tweezers he'd been holding were still clasped lightly on a shard of glass and the movement pushed the piece further into her skin, it moved around to the left and started a small trail of red trickling down her back. The brunette whimpered slightly, but not in pain, in frustration. She stood up and Dean let go of her with guilt painted over his face. He hadn't meant to hurt her, he was supposed to be helping. The sight of her pain caused a knot in his stomach, he never wanted to hurt her and only did he realise now, that he never wanted her to be hurt in general. Any way shape or form. "Ste, I didn't mean-"

"I can do it myself!" Dean gives in immediately, dropping the tweezers on the table which clink against the bowl already filled with shards of glass. "I-I'm sorry I-" She pauses, running her hand through her limp pony tail, now just a bobble knotted around a few pieces of hair and she wasn't sure why she was still wearing it. "I just-" She sighs, hugging her bloodied towel to her chest and closing her eyes briefly; when she was like this, she felt weak.

It had started happening more and more, she felt like crying. Breaking down and shaking. Her body giving way so she would fall to her knees, cursing as she would loose everything she had built up with years of practise. Loosing the 'hunter' she created because she had too, just for a while. Revealing her fears and weaknesses, exposing everything she tried so hard to hide. But she'd be vulnerable and that could not happen. Even with just these thought, her father really would be ashamed of her. "I can do it on my own" Stevie whispers it, almost whimpering, but not even Dean could hear how much strain filled her voice to not let herself give up right there and then. She wavered momentarily while she pushed everything threatening to upset her back down her throat. Stevie reopened her eyes and shoots Dean an exhausted smile, turning when he doesn't return it, but the Winchester makes his way over to her, unsure why until he pulls her into a hug.

Dean, unaware to Stevie, knew exactly why she'd shouted. Why she'd stuttered and why her face flickered into something distant, something broken and shattered. And all he wanted to do was fix it, because that's what hunters do, just like weapons they need to repair or when his car brakes down, never once did he give up on his Baby. And for whatever ever reason that stopped him fixing himself, he now wanted to fix her.