Cowboys and Angels (A Dean Winchester/ Supernatural FanFiction)

Chapter 15: Some Nights

Chapter 15: Some Nights

The waitress eventually found her way to our table. We ordered, and made short work of our food when it was brought to us, quickly paying and heading out the door. Sam, Cas, and Garth made their way back to the motel room while Dean and I went 30 minutes out of our way to Greenleaf. The ride there mostly consisted of Styx and Saliva. No matter the song, Dean and I never missed a beat, never stuttered on any line. To be honest, I figured I would never find anyone who had the same taste in music that I do. Although it was before our time, it was a great era. I almost felt it was fitting to this lifestyle.

Using newspaper reports, Dean and I found our way to the first of the two victim’s house. Dean parked my Camaro in front of the rather dreadful looking house. The mailbox looked as if it was about to fall over, the scruffy numbers that indicated we were at the right place peeling off the side of the top portion. The fence that surrounded the dying yard was falling apart, the once white picket planks a dirty gray color. The house itself was in worse condition. The wood slats that made up that front were splintered and full of cracks. The shutters were barely hanging onto their hinges, being weighed down by moss and cobwebs. The windows had mildew scratching at the seams.

 I raised a rather reluctant eyebrow, glancing at Dean. He wasn’t all the impressed either, but he shrugged, starting towards the front door. I followed, carefully stepping across the gravel driveway.

“Well, if you ever wanted to start a haunted house, here would be a good place to set up,” I joked, stepping lightly up the stairs that lead to the front porch. Dean let out a huff of laughter, following me.

Seeing as this was a very decrepit house, I guess I got a little ahead of myself, and I don’t know what I expected when the top step splintered under my weight. I cried out, scrambling for the hand rail, but it was just out of reach. Dean shot forward, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me against his chest, keeping me from falling through. I grabbed onto him in return, pushing myself out of the hole.

“You okay,” Dean asked, frantically checking me over.

“I’m fine—just need to lose a few pounds apparently,” I said glancing back at the broken board. Dean frowned, but I just shrugged in return.

“The board was weak to begin with,” Dean countered. I sighed.

“Just help me over it, please. I’m not as tall as you are.” Nodding, a small smile gracing his lips, Dean let go of me, boosting me across the hole in the stairs, jumping and landing beside me afterwards.

“One of the reasons I hate skirts: limited mobility,” I said pulling my skirt down and smoothing it out.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re still pretty short, too,” Dean teased. I glared at him.

“Shut up. You’re still shorter than your brother.” Putting his arm around me, he placed a small kiss to my temple. I leaned against his shoulder, a smile gracing my lips.

“There’s the beautiful smile I was looking for,” Dean said, gently cupping my face with his free hand. I leaned into his touch. Just then, the door to the house swung open, and an older, rather stout man came stomping out, a shotgun cocked and loaded in his hand.

“Who the hell are you two love birds and what the hell are you doing on my property,” he growled, waving around the shotgun. Dean quickly stepped in front of me, pushing me behind him a little ways, reaching in his jacket and flashing his FBI badge at the man. 

“Agent Sanders, FBI,” Dean said trying to sate the old man’s rage. “And this is Agent Brooks.”

“We’re here to ask you about the incidents of last month involving the lightning storms,” I followed. There was a long pause, and eventually the man lowered his gun, but his finger was still on the trigger.