you're lucky, [ I'm Dean ], tag ;; Claire

[Dean Winchester]

People, they never knew when to give up and do the right thing. They never knew when to break down and get over themselves. They always thought they could keep secrets hidden from everybody, that no one would ever find out. The funny thing was that people were just plain stupid. They couldn’t run from anything, no matter how fast or how hard. They couldn’t get over themselves and off their high horse because they didn’t know what was out there. If they did, they wouldn’t believe it. They’d laugh and ask if they were being punk’d, being tested for new ideas on horror movies. Horror movies, yeah, Dean loved them, but they weren’t real life. They weren’t even close. Not everyone died at the end, at least not if they were saved on time, but he just couldn’t walk up and explain this to anyone. He couldn’t just announce it to the world on some big intercom. They’d send him to a rubber room. They’d lock him up, and then the world would go to hell. People would die because this life, this scary horror movie that was big in the box office – like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre her The Grudge – that was his life. That’s what he faced on a daily basis. Crazy, right? That wasn’t even the best of it.

The butt of the pencil – the eraser – was scratching over the hairline on the back of Dean’s neck. He was tired, boy was he tired, and the coffee he chugged down before setting himself behind a book wasn’t exactly helping anyone – or rather, helping him stay awake. So far, in the lovely town of Boston, Massachusetts, Dean couldn’t tell his left from his right. What was going on wasn’t making a lick of sense to him, by any means. The murders, they were scattered randomly in a period of two months. Nobody said they saw anything happen, but Dean didn’t trust that. It’d be a scary sight, watching someone die, and he felt that vomit and controlling the impulses that could release bodily functions onto him would arise fast and hard. He had to get his facts straight to ease anyone into the reality of what was going on. He had to understand the pattern – if there was one – and then he had to ease everyone else in with not-so-far-fetched-but-easily-can-help-Dean-and-Sam questions. That was always the hardest part.

He grunted, flipping the page to another book. Sam had said it was something to do Pagan gods, possibly, because Massachusetts was one of the first thirteen colonies. Dean just agreed because it wasn’t like they hadn’t faced something like that before. Damn that apple pie was not worth it. Did he even get pie? Oh, he wanted pie – he loved pie. “Focus!” he spat at himself, raising a brow to his surroundings. The librarian was too death to hear, and Sam, well, Sam was lost somewhere the moment the two of them walked in. Really, it was like a child in a toystore taking Sam into a library. The kid was such a nerd. Dean, see, he’d rather be at a bar. A damn good beer sounded like heaven right then and there. Heaven in a bottle. He laughed, to himself at his mental funny. “Oh, Dean, you crack me up,” he mumbled to himself. Being cooped up with Sam, he had to learn to keep himself entertained. Wow – that sounded vaguely dirty.

[Claire Villanova]

She had only been in Boston for two days and so fair it had been raining non-stop since she got there but still there was just something about Boston that Claire liked -- she wasn't sure why but she just did. Maybe it was the fact that it was so... different and new. Who knows.

Parking her dark blue Chevy Blazer in the parking lot of the library, she got out into the pouring rain and headed into the building (after locking the vehicle of course). She was never one who liked the library but she needed to read up on the facts revolving around a 'case' so she didn't really have much of a choice. Sighing heavily, she stopped just in front of the door after she walked into the building, trying to get some of the water out of her blonde hair.

After a couple minutes she gave up on trying to dry off any. Since she had been in a rush that morning she didn't have much time and ended up dressing in a pair of dark green cargo pants and a black tank-top, thankfully she didn't waste any time doing her hair since it was now wet anyway's.

She really had no idea where the book she needed would be in the library, she would have asked the librarian but decided against it at the last second. As she walked by, she happened to over hear what sounded like someone talking to themselves. Oh what the hell, she didn't have anything better to do... plus he was cute... really cute. "You know, people don't normally talk to themselves... or atleast not in a pubic place." she said jokingly, stopping in front of him.

[Dean Winchester]

There weren’t a lot of signs pointing in the direction of “Pagan God.” The deaths were too close together. If it was sacrifice, it’d have to have been a yearly cycle, at the same time, to replenish a life source and make a god happy. The murders they had were in a period of two months, scattering over every day of the week, randomly jumping from Saturday to Tuesday. The pattern, it wasn’t even close. What had his little brother been thinking? Apparently, he hadn’t been, but Dean couldn’t push all the blame off on the kid. After all, Dean had been one to jump on the bandwagon quickly just to start the case. Dean was going to agree with anything Sam had said so they could leave that damned motel room. Grant it, it was classy, and they got a few good cable channels, but still, being cooped up in a place for so long drove Dean a little nuts. Sitting on the bed, listening to his baby brother name off ideas from behind his little laptop wasn’t exactly Dean’s idea of a good time, though sitting in a library wasn’t exactly at the top of his list, either. Honestly, when were they going to get out into the real world? Dean’s face was too pretty to be hidden behind books and old newspapers. With those eyes and that bone structure, he needed to be out in public for all to see, right? People adored staring at the good looking and Dean, he looked the [best[/i].

He tapped the butt of his pencil hard against the pages. This was useless, useless. They were getting nowhere. Screw the idea of finding a few leads first. They needed more information. They needed a list of what happened, of what people saw. Dean knew Sam could get anyone to open up with those puppy dog eyes. People loved him – hell, they adored him for his personable personality. It was Dean they had trouble getting along. Dean was the cocky and arrogant prick women sneered at, even after his amazing pick up lines that consisted of phrases such as “kids are the best.” What could he say? He had to work in short time. They were running out of distance, and she had a kid. He thought she’d adore Dean’s effort. Sure, he was shot down by Andrea to begin with, but eventually, after he saved the day, he got a kiss. That made it worth while for Dean – a few good smooches and a hell of a lot of pretty women. The whole “good deed” thing was decent, too. After all, he had to be raking in a butt load of karma points, right?

Right.

About to mumble another set of words to himself, he looked up, startled with a raised brow to the women who had stopped before him. He hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings, clearly, or he would have heard it coming. He supposed, mentally, that he assumed it would be Sam. Dean never people actually just came to the library, after all, but apparently you learn new things every day. His eyes traced over her face, down the curves of her shoulders, around her stomach, lingering slightly for awhile, then back to her face. A small smile pushed onto his lips as he let out a tiny, airy laugh. “Well, people don’t usually talk to strangers,” he told her, keeping his brow raised, “but we’ve all got a bad habit we just can’t seem to break.” He had many, but admitting that upon an introduction didn’t seem too idealistic for anybody. Women didn’t really like that, right? Or was that the one word that Sam was always preaching about? What was it, honesty? Dean wasn’t that aware with it – especially when it came to women. Better tell them a tale they want to hear, right? Than telling them the truth? The whole “I hunt demons” spiel didn’t even seem believable.

]

[Claire Villanova]

Claire gave him a sarcastic smile when he commented that people don't usually talk to strangers. "Well then, I'm Claire." she paused for just a spilt second, "Then I guess that doesn't make us complete strangers anymore, huh?" she added with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

"This seat taken?" she asked after a couple minutes, pointing toward the chair was that on the other side of the table he was sitting at. What? She was bored and he was really good looking -- no harm in deciding to strike up a conversation, right? Right.

(eek, sorry! short post)

[Dean Winchester]

There was one time, when Dean had been with a women, that he got smacked in the face for a snarky remark, a cocky comment that just happened to slip out over his lips, absent mindedly, and totally irrelevant to the topic that had been at hand. They’d been in town – in a small town outside of Dallas, Texas – for a few days, hitting the same bar repeatedly. Dean had met one of the bartenders, or at least had his eye on her, but the first night, he left with some other girl that was all hands. The second night they were there, the same girl – Ms. Grabby – was back. She was talking, rambling on about how last night was great. Dean would smile, nod occasionally, but his eyes stayed glued to the female serving a few old sleaze bags shots. She looked over him towards him, occasionally, but he couldn’t make full that he was noticing her. Ms Grabby still thought she had a chance – a second chance, to be exact. Didn’t she know that if he wasn’t hot and heavy about it the morning after, it wasn’t going to happen twice? Apparently, she hadn’t gotten the memo because she said something about leaving, then waved her head in front of Dean’s face, mumbling the name “John.” That was his alias of the hour. A brow rose to Ms. Grabby, and his lips parted with the words God, she’s hot. Word to the wise, never say that to another female who wants to have sex with you (or has had sex with you) because she will not take it as accidental word vomit. Her palm smacked across his cheek, and his head jerked to the right. That had been about the same time Sam came back from asking a few questions around to the locals. The grin on his little brother’s face clearly showed that Sam was full of glee that he made it for the show. All that was said afterwards was the typical “shut up.”

A small laugh fell off his lips as he nodded, “Dean.” He had debated briefly whether or not giving his real name was the smartest thing to do, but as long as Winchester wasn’t smacked on to the end, he’d be safe. Dean was a fairly common name only consisting of four letters. It was simple, but it fit him. The boy wasn’t Abercrombie model material – hell, he didn’t even know what the hell Abercrombie was. But he did know that it sounded a little too fancy for Dean’s taste. He was from Kansas, after all, and it wasn’t anything like New York City or Vegas – Vegas, he still wanted to go, but Sammy, oh, Sammy was too stuck on all this. Couldn’t they just wipe out a few poker tables, earn themselves some spending money? He’d use a fake name there, like Charlie or Bob, though Bob seemed a little too short and sweet. Dean, Dean sounded strong, tough, like a Ford truck, even if he was a Chevy man. What was Chevy’s slogan, again? Like a rock, oh, yeah, Dean was definitely like a rock – in more ways than one, but women saw that eventually, right? Dean was getting ahead of himself. She was still speaking, not giving him a lap dance. What he needed to do was focus, now, on the new topic at hand: Claire.

Claire meets Dean.

This seat taken? That was debatable, to be honest. He lost his partner somewhere in the stacks, so technically at the given time, it was not taken, but in general, there was a possibility that Sam could pop out of nowhere. The boy had a tendency to always ruin Dean’s fun with women – especially the attractive ones. This women, Claire, Dean would count her as that. And they were flirting, weren’t they? Possibly, on some level. Dean would kick it up if need be, though his good looks alone were something to write home to mother about. A photograph would even be better. A brow rose, as he lightly bit the inside of his cheek. “By my geek boy brother, yes, but,” a smirk fell onto Dean’s lips, “I think you could take him.” Hell, Dean knew that she could take him. It was Sam, for Christ’s sakes – he was a freakin’ red headed woman!

[Claire Villanova]

"Nice to meet you Dean." Claire smiled slightly. Ok, this could be way more fun then walking though the boring row of books in a useless library -- Seriously. Claire never seen the point in a library, you could find anything you need to know on the computer. She'd never admit it, but she was kin of a computer geek. Ok, fine, maybe the library wasn't completely useless, she was in fact talking to a really hot guy right now, right? Yep, not completely useless.

She raised an eye brow when he started, saying something about his 'geek' brother. "Turning me down for the geeky brother. Ouch, now that hurts." she joked, shaking her head in fake disappointment, but the half smile on her lips gave it away that she got the hint from his next sentence that she could take the seat. No, Claire wasn't one to normally walk up to random guys and start sort of flirting with them but right now she had traveled for three days non-stop to get to Boston and then had been cooped up in a crummy little hotel room for another two days -- she really needed to talk to someone just to prove to herself that she wasn't completely anti-social.

With a slight tired sigh, she sat down in the empty chair across from Dean. "So, you don't exactly look like the kind of guy who goes to the library often." she commented, slowly looking from him to the books that where on the table. One of witch had something to do with the paranormal -- well, they pretty much all did in one way or another, but one seemed to stand out to her more then the rest -- "You believe in that stuff?" she asked, nodding toward the books.

[Dean Winchester]

She didn’t know Dean because clearly, they’d just met, but the statement about his brother, it went without question. Dean always picked Sam, over anybody. When it came down to it, no girl could come between them because it wasn’t worth it, not after what they’d been through together, not after the extent they went to. Sam had his visions, nightmares, that caused him to fall to the floor in pain. They were premonitions, seeing things that happened in the future, like when he saw Max and the murders. Dean had to be there to find out whatever the hell all that meant, whatever the hell it stood for because so far, Dean really didn’t have a clue. John wasn’t around to talk to. Every message Dean left was only given a dead end. There wasn’t any use. They were in this together, and it wasn’t just because of Dean. They’d been hunting, saving a few kids out in the boonies. Dean shot off the voltage gun not even realizing he was in water. All he wanted to do was fry that rawhead to the bone. That was a note to self-moment where he needed to check his surroundings. He ended up in the hospital, suffering from a minor heart attack and Dean, he was sent to die. But Sam, oh, Sam Winchester wouldn’t let him die in peace. That boy went on a mad hunt trying to find the answers. Dean checked out of the hospital to find their hotel room covered in books. What Sam found was a specialist – a faith healer. Dean was still pissed about it, now, after knowing the reaper exchanged his soul for someone else’s, but Dean was alive because his brother didn’t give up on him. Picking between Sam and girl wasn’t a question, even with the twenty-six year old and his teenage hormones.

He smiled, lightly, shrugging his shoulders. He took it as she got the hint once she took a seat. That was good because at the moment, he didn’t have a witty comeback. Talk about firsts, right? Dean Winchester not having something to say. He’d blame it on lack of sleep and spending so much time spent in the front seat of his Impala, mocking his brother for wearing women’s underwear, among other thints. That was their relationship, after all, seeing who could be the bigger pain in the ass towards the other. Dean could say, maybe, he was out of practice with women, but it was a safer bet to say that he just hadn’t gotten enough sleep the night before and he was in a library – it kind of killed his muse. There was no alcohol or mojo pumping lights to boost his ego. He really did have to count on his good looks, not that he doubted him. The female before him approached him, after all. She had to have liked what she saw or her butt – which, mind you, was very nice – wouldn’t have been plopped in the chair previously occupied by his brother. His brother, who at the moment, Dean was glad was nowhere in sight.

So, you don't exactly look like the kind of guy who goes to the library often.

Dean pretended to blush, slightly, tossing a hand in the air. “Aw, you noticed?” he joked, shaking his head. Hiding his element wasn’t exactly easy. A guy like Dean belonged in a garage under some hood, getting his hands dirty. He liked to fix things, be the hero, not the nerd. If he’d gone to college, he probably wouldn’t know where the library on campus was. Dean’d be the guy who knew where the party was at. All of three of them. All in the same night. “That’s awfully kind of you.” He leaned a bit of weight against his arm that was pressed against he wood table. At least, he thought it was wood. The possibility that it had just been a faux-finish was in existence, but concentrating on what his arm was resting on – if it weren’t a woman – didn’t exactly scream important to him. After all, Claire was continuing in conversation. Did she think she had to work this hard to keep Dean’s attention? She had an ass and a pair of breasts – that’s all anyone ever needed.

Belief was a strong word, but the answer was yes, he believed in it, though admitting that up front to anyone wasn’t the brightest of ideas. The Winchesters seemed to always find that out the hard way. It went hand in hand with “the truth is out there” speech that they never had time for. When it came down to it, no one was exposed to the truth unless it was crunch time, unless the mystery was just about over and Dean needed to send an evil son-of-a-bitch back down to hell. He shrugged, pushing his lips out into a pout. “Define believe.”

[Claire Villanova]

Claire smiled somewhat, still looking at him for the moment. "Yeah, well, I'm only here for work purposes... other wise I would never be in a library just to be here." she fake shuddered. "Libraries are to... quiet." she added after a second. She really hated complete silence -- whenever she was alone she always had some kind of music playing or the TV on in the background so it wouldn't be completely silent. Silence indicated the calm before the storm.

Miss Claire Villanova was far from 'normal' in any sense of the word. But she always managed to keep up a very believable facade that she was just your average twenty-something on a road trip -- not a psychic-demon-hunter who can see the future in strange dreams, or visions. No wonder she was anti-social and spent most of her time alone. She just always reminded herself that she was better off alone anyway's.

She seriously wished she kept quiet about the whole paranormal thing, she didn't normally talk about it and god only knows that the whole 'I hunt ghosts' doesn't ever good over well -- normally someone would look at her like she was insane or just laugh at her thinking she was joking... now she had learned it was best not to talk about it unless she actually had to. "Believe... as in actually think that that stuff is really out there. Ya know, ghosts, demons... paranormal activity." she finally said, working the words though her mind before actually saying it -- just to make sure that she didn't say to much and make Dean think she was crazy or something. "I just thought... because I seen the book," she shrugged her shoulders, clearly uncomfortable now.

[Dean Winchester]

Work purposes? A brow arched. In Dean’s mind, that could have only been one of a few things – something along the lines of really hot news reporter, undercover cop, or stripper. Okay, so “stripper” really didn’t have anything to do with what he’d been thinking because clearly, a stripper would not be walking around a library. There weren’t any poles or strobe lights flashing in the background, but Dean could dream, couldn’t he? What was that saying, go big or go home? Did that have anything to do with being a stripper? Maybe to stretch out the body more, try new things, or even the latter – the one that didn’t exist because his dreams didn’t line up with reality. Well, there was better luck next time, right? “Yeah,” he told her, with a small nod, “I prefer the great outdoors.” Or the great indoors that were crowded with drunken old men, girls in short skirts or shorts, and a hell of a lot of beers. Bars, that was his preference over the library, but bars didn’t have computers. They didn’t have research. They didn’t supply what Dean needed to get the job done – the job Dean clearly just put on hold due to the circumstances. His eyes slowly wandered behind Claire, just to see if Sam was on the prowl ready to bitch Dean out for falling out of focus. Well, the coast looked clear enough, and mentally he laughed out loud as his came back to Claire. “But,” he added, with a smile – a grin, more likely, a flirtatious, I’d-rather-be-in-some-hotel-room-with-you-than-here grin. “if pretty girls like you start hangin’ around here, I’d consider making it a more frequent place to stop.” Didn’t college students have sex in the stacks? Wasn’t there some designated spot? In a library, that’d be Dean’s favorite.

Rolling his lips together, he nodded, slightly. Belief – she meant in its exact context, but how was he supposed to answer? Of course he believed! He knew what was out there, he knew what went bump in the night. He knew ever since some damned demon snuck into his brother’s bedroom when Dean was for years old – his brother only six months – and killed his mother. He knew ever since the Shrtiga came after his little brother when John had gone out on a hunt, when Dean snuck out to go play some video games in the diner near by. To this day, Dean still remembers coming back to the motel room, seeing his little brother’s door opened slightly and some feeling – some light – shining through. Dean remembered getting the gun, picking it up, and opening the door to see that damned thing over his little brother, sucking the life from him. And, the best of it all, Dean remembered freezing – not knowing what to do, even after he’d been told and trained. Then, John came on, shooting the damned thing to scare it away. He ran to his little Sammy, holding him in his arms, and Dean felt that look of shame pierce right through him. It hurt like hell – worse than getting shocked and suffering that heart attack, worse than getting kicked in the jewels. That was the first time Dean knew that there was no room for guessing, especially when it came to his brother. As long as Sam was alive, whoever was dead didn’t matter. Sam was his responsibility – no matter what the cost.

He shrugged, letting a small laugh escape his lips to try and clear out the moment. Apparently his answer wasn’t what she expected. “I guess you could say I believe. I mean,” Dean rolled his tongue over his front teeth, pulling the book towards him to flip through the pages. “People believe in God, it’s the same concept, when you think about.” Except God was supposed to be good, he was supposed to house protection for all. How could God let things so evil into the world? Clearly because God didn’t exist, but Dean found that topic of discussion never ended well. People got defensive. They called him crazy. Yeah, Dean was the crazy one – that’d be the day. If anything, Dean was probably the most sane person on the planet, aside from Sam, John, Pastor Jim, Bobby, and maybe a select few more. But that was it, right? Who really trusted him and just went on the bandwagon when Dean told people what was really out there, before saving them? They always thought they were just going crazy, but they were just gaining an ounce of sanity – a hop off their damned high horse. “Everybody’s gotta believe in somethin’.” He shut the book, looking back at her. Did that ease any sort of discomfort drift between them? Though Dean didn’t really care if it did. Who believed and who didn’t wasn’t his problem. It was the people getting attacked and pissing off a spirit that was his day job, the good ‘ole family business. And to think, John Winchester once owned a garage. That used to be the life Dean was going to walk into, but every family had their dark spots, even if Dean insisted the Winchester’s weren’t that dark. “But you gotta admit, some of this stuff seems a little,” he paused, trying to the play the role of ‘just another civilian,’ “far fetched, don’t ya think?”

[Claire Villanova]

"Sure, the outdoors or the whole club scene is more my style then these kinds of places." Claire chuckled slightly. It was the truth, you could easily find Claire in a bar or club just about any day -- she wasn't a big drinker, but even after a couple beers she'd be having a whole lot of fun. Damn, if only she met this guy in a bar instead of a old boring library... She smiled when she noticed the flirtatious grin followed by the flirty comment from him. "Yeah well, I guess I could say the same if more good-looking guys came around here," she grinned back just as flirty as he had, only hers was followed by a slightly nervous chuckle. She normally wasn't so bold, God what to much alone time can do to someone.

She paused for a second, thinking about what he just said about believing in God and believing in the paranormal was the same concept. Yes, in the traditional sense on the idea, it was kind of concept but when you know what kind of things where out there she sometimes found it hard to believe that there even was a God. Coming from a religious household growing up, she kind of had the idea built in her head even though she truly questioned it all the time. "Yeah, yeah, of course." she replied, bringing herself out of her line of thought.

She watched as he closed the book then returned to looking back up at him when he continued to say that some of it seemed a little far fetched. Uh-huh. If you say so. she silently thought before bring her attention back to Dean so that he didn't think she was stalling her reply for some odd reason. "Oh yeah, of course. A lot of that stuff doesn't seem possible, but what do we know right?" she shrugged her shoulders, hoping that the fact that she was lying and a little uncomfortable about it wasn't showing though that much.

Change the subject. Leaning back slightly in the chair, she ran her hand though her still partly wet blonde hair and nervously grinned over at him. "So..." she started, clearly trying to think of someway to change the subject as quick as possible. "You been in Boston long?"

[Dean Winchester]

So there was a possibility out there that if Claire and Dean didn’t hook up here, in the library nestled in Boston, they could run into each other in a bar, with alcohol, which presented itself as a lot more fun than sitting around a stack of dusty old books having to do with pagan gods, town records, and a note pad that was lacking notes – something Sam really shouldn’t be surprised of. There weren’t even doodles or words such as ACDC, Metallica, or Black Sabbath. It was blank, the yellow color they bought it as, with blue-green lines spread horizontally across it. It was unused, so Sam couldn’t complain that Dean had been wasting paper, and now, now Dean thought that it was better that way. What would Claire think if Dean had words like “vitality” and branched under that types of sacrifices – like couples or children? She’d assume he was some sort of freak, not that ‘freak’ was something Dean would deny himself of. Hell, he knew he was a freak – just like his little brother. That’s what made them special, aside from his good looks – the good looks Claire just commented on. Instantly, his smile grew more honest, or modest, or even more flirtatious, depending on who was asked. “You know,” Dean said suggestively, “we could just accidentally meet up at a bar later, pretend like it was our first time, and have a close to the same conversation where I tell you you’re pretty and buy you a drink.” That was smooth, right? Well, it was better than “kids are the best” and asking to be walked two blocks. At least, right now, Dean couldn’t get shot down for sense of direction and never being able to find his way to a decent pick up line.

What do we know right?

He laughed, slightly, with a small nod. “Yeah,” he said short, raising both brows. “What do we know?” Dean knew a little bit about a lot of things – just enough to make him dangerous, but he wasn’t going to tell Claire that. He didn’t know who she was or what she did for a living, still, so he just let it be as he could accept the ideas, but he didn’t chase after him. He’d leave it at the comparison to God, which, mind you, Dean didn’t think so highly of. God was supposed to be some sort of protection for people, to fill an empty void. God was supposed to bring good fortune, right? Be some sort of shield from what was evil? His mother believed in God, and look where that had gotten her, right? People died in car accidents daily. People were murdered in cold blood. Women were raped, and there were people starving in Africa. There was genocide in Sudan, and no one was doing a damned thing about it. Did God find some sick entertainment in just watching, just starting down at the world as it ripped itself apart? Dean didn’t believe it – he’d never seen it. He never saw something good happen to someone. Look at Roy La Grange – he thought he was doing God’s work, thought he had this gift, and all it had been was his sick and demented wife controlling a reaper out of desperation. People thought they should play God. Shouldn’t God have stopped that? Every day, Dean saw bad things happen to good people. From his family to people like Lori and Andrea, bad things came about either taking something or someone, or just wreaking havoc where it didn’t belong. Dean didn’t get it. He didn’t like it, but it gave him a day job. Even if the pay was crap, he was doing something to help society. Unlike God, Dean really was trying to save the world – through actions, not words.

But, everyone could still call him Dean – it sounded better than God, anyways.

Rolling his shoulders back, casually. He didn’t know how much longer he could make small talk about demons and ghosts without slipping any hints. Ha, that was funny, right? Dean could make small talk about anything, it’d just get short, and he’d start to sound bitter and unenthused. People had a tendency to rant and Dean had always been one to get straight to the point, unless the timing called for a delay one way or another – like if Sammy needed to sneak in and get some police report. Those sort of things called for Dean to bat his eyelashes, flap his lips, and look as interested as the first time he’d seen porn. Really, if Dean wasn’t a hunter, he should have been an actor. Or working with the FBI. Lying was easy for him, and he already had a sweet black ride. He knew the states better than anyone. This was, what, his second time to Boston? The first time had been with John when he was younger. Dean remembered being cooped up in a motel room with Sam, and Sam wanting to watch the Brady Bunch. God, living like them would have made Dean take a rifle to his head. They were too perfect, too peppy. He’d take the demented and twisted like of the Winchesters any day over the Brady Bunch – especially because there were six of them, and the girls weren’t even hot. What kind of show didn’t have hot girls? One that was supposed to be “family oriented,” clearly.

“A little over a day.” But what gave the hint that said he wasn’t a local? Of course, Sam and Dean were far from it. They were Kansas boys, born, but raised across the great American states. They’d come in yesterday night; hit a bar to interrogate a few locals that got them nowhere. Apparently, by eleven o’clock at night, the drunks were as good as the three blind mice. “My brother and I, we’re here on business.” That was true, wasn’t it? They were here inspecting the string of murders. The ones that were ruled out as sacrifices because they all happened in the same year, unless they happened previously, in years past. Dean made a mental note to himself, telling his focused brain to look that up after he was finished talking to the attractive female in front of him – whenever that may be. “What about you?” It was polite to ask, wasn’t it? “You live here in Boston, or just passin’ through?”

[Claire Villanova]

"Actually," Claire started, grinning over at him when he finished with his 'suggestion' that they 'accidentally' meet at a bar later on. Hell, that actually sounded very tempting right now. "That's a tempting offer." she finished, holding her own flirtatious grin the whole time. Who ever said that she couldn't have a little bit of fun here and there.

Yeah, what do we know?

She slowly nodded her head. "Exactly." she replied with a half smile that said 'who-really-knows'. Even though she knew and wanted off the subject of ghosts and demons as quick as possible, she knew if they kept talking about it she'd make some kind of mistake and slip up in one way or another. She wasn't going to deny it, she wasn't the best liar in the world and even worse when she was extremely uncomfortable with a conversation. So it was most likely best for both of them to get off the subject, more or less likely better for her since she really didn't want to have Dean think she was insane or whatever.

'here on business' How many times had she used the line? To many to count. She "Ah, cool. What kind of business?" she pausing, making a metal note that it might have been a bit to direct of a question. But hey, he brought it up in the first place, it only seemed like a normal reply to ask. "If you don't mind me asking." she quickly followed it up with, just in case. "Just passin' though. Only been here two days." she replied when he asked if she lived in Boston or just passing though. As much as she found herself liking Boston, she was never one to be able to stay in one place for very long -- well, that was mostly because of her so-call 'job', but still, she didn't like being forced to stay in one place.



[[Sorry, short post. I g2g, it's 2:08am and I've got to get up early tomorrow, so yeah. I'll be back on tomorrow; late afternoon/early night]]

[Dean Winchester]

This seemed like one of those moments Sam Winchester would pop his head out of nowhere, randomly, and interrupt Dean (almost) getting some kind of score – or even date. Now, the term “date” was used very loosely, meaning that Dean and Claire would meet up at a later time, at a bar, share a few drinks, a few good conversations, and leave together with Dean’s hopes held high that his motel room would be Sammy free for a damned long time – a few hours, at least. And then, as always, it would be ruined by a call from his brother asking if Dean was done, or something hinting along those lines. If Dean was even luckier, which at this point in time he hoped he was, Claire would take Dean to her motel room and have her way with him. Yes, Dean would be a willing victim open to any suggestions, as outrageous as it sounded. He’d stay there and stumble into the Winchester – er, “Christianson” – room and be ready for work, and by ready, all Dean meant was that he’d be wearing a grin so wide Sam would know better than to ask for any sort of detail because his brother, Dean, just might tell. “Tempting as in a yes?” Dean asked, arching his brow in a way that preyed on the word “sexy.” He had it, and he knew it – there was never a question of whether or not he should flaunt it at all. Dean knew he should. “Or tempting as in your boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate such an attractive guy hitting on his girlfriend?” That was Dean’s way of asking. If she was in a relationship, Sam’s mouth would be rambling on about his thoughts on “morality.”

Could anyone else say bed time story?

What kind of business? Well, that was a funny story. He hunted demons, just like his dad, John Winchester? Had Claire heard of him? Oh, of course not, John kept his last name off the market. Anyways, it was the family business, and had been since his mother died twenty-two years ago in his brother, Sam’s, nursery. John in an ex-marine, so he had a lot of access to guns. If it’s legal, now, Dean didn’t know, but they didn’t always shoot bullets. Oh, no, Dean was smart enough to pack rock salt into buck shots. Had the idea been passed on yet? Mentally, Dean claimed that if it had, his name should have been attached to it – but that wasn’t important. See, he was on an investigation about some spirit. There had been a lot deaths in the area, recently, and Dean and his brother just thought that seemed odd. Really, that many in such a small amount of time, in such a small area? It would have been better if it had been Salem, at least then Dean could have shook more licks of sense into it, but still, Boston was an old town. One of the first thirteen colonies, to be exact. Or was that just Massachusetts? Either way, there were stories buried there, plenty, and it was Dean’s job to dig them up. Wait, no? That wasn’t what she wanted? Oh, it was, but Dean wasn’t going to tell. Instead, he smiled lightly, with a small hesitant laugh. An eyebrow rose with a half grin added. “We’re Federal Marshals,” he admitted, digging into his jacket, pulling out a badge flashing it quick enough to see words, but not long enough for anyone to make any sense of them. “Investigating the murders that have been goin’ on down here.” He shrugged, lightly. Or was Boston up? Massachusetts was one in the east, packed up top, so… Dean decided it didn’t manner. If she was smart, she’d catch his drift, as whacky as it sounded.

A nod rolled followed a lip pout. She was just passing through? Then she couldn’t be that much help, right? Other than sexual relaxation? That was possible, but sometimes, women were surprising. Dean refused to doubt some of their capabilities – some being the key term. Ever since his relationship with Cassie, things just went a little crazy with women. She almost got him to stick with a relationship, after all. That’s gotta say something. “Passin’ through,” he repeated, just for unnecessary justification, a space filler. “So you on some kinda road trip?” To say he was curious was a possibility, otherwise betting that Dean just liked Claire better than the stories he could in those old books would do just fine. What could he say? He had a thing for women – and food, and since no food seemed to be anywhere remotely close to the facility, he’d settle for a woman. Not that it was really settling because, honestly, Dean was diggin’ the flirtatious conversation they whipped out, but still – food was food. And if it was pie, or there was pie anywhere close, Dean wouldn’t be here, and Sam Winchester would be one ticked off little brother.

[Claire Villanova]

Claire raised an eyebrow, trying to give the appearance like she was actually thinking about what he had just asked -- just to lend him to believe that she just might say no, just because she liked to play with guy's minds a little. "Tempting as in... yes." she slowly repeated, adding a flirty smile at the end. She nearly laughed as his next comment. "I don't have a boyfriend. So that means I'm free to make my own choices... whatever that may be." she said with a wink before lightly chuckling at herself.

"Ooh, Federal Marshals." she said, her voice slightly lingering on the last word for a spilt second. She quickly looked at the badge that he showed her -- but not long enough for her to really be able to read anything more then the words 'Federal Marshal'. Ha, nice normal Federal Agent meets freak of nature Claire Villanova who hunted demons and ghosts. Thank god she got off the paranormal subject before she slipped up and made him truly think that she was a complete freak... well she sorta was, that was surely wasn't the point. "Interesting." she replied when he mentioned that they where investigating the murders that where going on in Boston. Funny thing was she was in Boston for a little investigation of her own (but in a completely different way). She had to wonder if they where both thinking of the same case or not.

So you on some kinda road trip?

Kinda. Technically, yes, she was on the road trip -- just making a lot of stops along the way to try and stop some evil supernatural creatures. "Yeah, kind of." she replied, slowly nodding her head. "Took a break before hopefully going to college... just my 'break' turned out the be a little be longer then I had really planned in the beginning." she shrugged -- so it wasn't the truth, but whatever, it sounded good. "I really hate staying in one place for to long." she added after, that time it really was part of the truth.

[Dean Winchester]

Yes? She said yes? Oh, did Dean really think that she’d object? A smile played both inwardly and outwardly on the twenty-six year old males face. If Dean was the type of guy to show an ounce of excitement, other than in a kill or towards his brother, he’d be dancing around the library with a ‘woo’ song being shouted from the highest pitch his voice could go, but Dean Winchester, he was one to keep his cool. Instead, a nod rolled followed his lips being pushed out – a typical expression – as he listened to the rest of her statement. Whatever that may be. His grin widened, absent mindedly. That was just giving Dean open and free permission to say anything. Did she know what that meant? Did she know what that could lead to? Of course not because this was their first introduction, this was the first time Claire ever meant Dean. Was she in for a surprise? It was possible, depending on the type of guys she usually met or even associated herself with. “Well, then I promise,” Dean began, leaning in a little closer. “I’ll make it worth your while.” His eyebrows rose slightly, in a suggestive manner. He could have said “can” but this was Dean, he was every woman’s wildest dream come true. Clearly.

Federal Marshal was a typical lie Dean threw out into uncharted waters. It was believable, slightly – at least the those untrained. Cops questioned it, most of the time, which usually got the boys caught after a few days with the typical ‘I ran your badge number’ speech. That’s usually when they were given two options, but they always came back to save the day. That was their job. If jail stopped them, Dean would find some way to get out. He’d call Bobby to pass along the message to John, or he’d get out himself. How hard could that be, right? Like McQueen in The Great Escape, right? Sure, there may be some challenges like cocky guards because the facility will be run by males and not women, so Dean couldn’t pout his irresistible lips and bat his gorgeous hazel eyes to get his way. He’d have to be crafty, but that’s how he was taught, raised, even. John invented lying to the cops, hadn’t he? No, it was around before him, but that didn’t mean Dean’s dad didn’t perfect it. Those stories the man came up with, they were beautiful, simply amazing. The man was a master, and now it was Dean’s job to fill his shoes. If he could, Dean wasn’t sure, but he’d try his best to get damned close. After all, Sammy couldn’t handle himself in a place like prison. The youngest Winchester was just too … pretty.

“Yeah,” Dean began with a small shrug, and a quick nod. “My brother and I get a few kicks out of it.” And perks that came with the job – his job – hunting. But she didn’t need to know that, did she? Of course not, but now knowing that Dean was a “Marshal” would she really take him up on the sexual offer he’d just recently handed her? Oh, if Sam was here, he’d be saying that Dean needed to get his mind out of the gutter – get his mind back into the game – the job. Yeah, well, Dean’s head had been in the job, really, it had, and it came up with nothing. There was some note to self Dean made a bit ago, but what it was, well, it was gone. It was pushed aside for any dirty and unnecessary thoughts that were floating in his mind towards Claire. Was it his fault that he found her attractive? Dean blamed it on a bad pair of genes.

His mouth opened to say something along the lines of how that sounded like his brother, Sam, but Dean closed it, swallowing. They were Marshals, not just two boys on a road trip. Dean had to remember that, now, until their cover was blown – if and when that would be. Instead, he exchanged the thought. “I know how that feels,” he admitted with a small a laugh. “That’s why with this job,” Dean said, “travelings a perk.” And with the word “job” he was meaning hunting, but again, Dean didn’t expect Claire to get that. After all, she wasn’t some freak psychic like his little brother now, was she? No Jennifer Love Hewitt or Patricia Arquette, right? As far as Dean knew, she wasn’t, but Dean knew that life was just full of those damned surprises. Hell, Dean would admit that Sam had some Haley Jole thing going on was a definite shocker. More shocking than John just leaving a job to go missing. Which reminded Dean, it made him uncomfortable to even think that the man could be dead, which didn’t come up until that very moment. Awkward.

[ ooc | Maybe with Dean being so suggestive, it'd be the perfect time for Sam to come in. Or, if you post something I can make Dean really suggestive with - like practically making a move on her right there, in the library, that's when Sammy should come in. (: ]