fic: road to nowhere
Title: Road to Nowhere
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Bela, Sam
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,600
Summary: Dean begrudgingly enlists Bela's help on a case with rather personal implications.
Notes: Written for spn_summerlove and meant to fit into canon between 3.06 and 3.07. Thanks to my beta luv4elvis and my very own mapquest nymeggi .
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Bela reclined on one of the tall stools around her kitchen island, heels on the counter, hands clasped behind her knees, watching her premium French roast brew slowly into the pot. Her hair twisted up at her neck, she felt the slight breeze of movement behind her.
“Losing your touch, Bela.”
She rolled her eyes, not bothering to turn to greet her guest.
“I buzzed you in, darling. Kind of takes away the element of surprise, wouldn’t you say?”
Dean shrugged, taking hold of the back of Bela’s chair, giving her a bit of a twist before rounding the island and snatching up the coffee pot mid-brew. Losing her balance, Bela sat up, tugging the hem of her pajama top down around her hips as she glared at him grumpily. He poured the overly strong sludge into her favorite mug and took a swig, grimacing at the burn.
“Got anything to eat?”
She stared at him blankly, watched the highlight of her morning trickle down his throat and wondered why she had answered his call three days prior. He set down the mug, crossed to the fridge and peered inside. Bela figured its contents of yogurt and several bottles of salad dressing would be less than thrilling. He looked back at her, disgust on his face.
“I drive halfway across the country, all night long, to meet at this god awful hour and you don’t have the decency to feed me? You’re a sick woman, sweetheart.”
He downed the rest of the coffee, swiped the back of his hand across his lips.
“There’s a diner around the corner. Meet me there.” He gave her the once over. “May wanna lose the jammies.”
Bela watched him leave, considered locking her doors and turning off her phone and forgetting the whole thing. A last longing look at her quiet morning interrupted, she headed off to change.
She arrived with Dean’s pancakes, slid into the booth as the waitress set down three kinds of syrup in a rotating caddy. Bela had the warm, sick feeling of too little sleep and zero caffeine; and the sticky sight turned her stomach. She picked up the laminated menu, turned it over in her hands as both the elderly waitress and Dean looked at her. The latter addressed her around a mouthful of syrupy sausage.
“Get a breakfast burrito, guy over there had one, they look awesome.” She made a face.
“Eww. No. Um, egg-white omelet? Orange juice. Coffee.”
The waitress nodded and left, leaving Bela the unpleasant option of watching Dean eat across the table. He paused mid-stack, pointed his fork at her.
“You bring it?” She raised a brow, glared at the tines.
“No, the thought of sharing a meal with you distracted me. This is all for my enjoyment, you see. Of course I brought it.”
She caught the roll of his eyes as she turned in the booth, rummaged around in her purse and came up with a brown satin bag, placed it on the table next to her newly filled coffee cup. She waited until the waitress left to open it, watched Dean’s eyes as he watched her fish out the long length of chain; at the end of it, an innocuous looking brass key.
“When you called asking about it, ever polite as you were, I figured I’d have to call in a few favors, hunt around some, and then I thought about it, realized I picked up something similar at an estate sale a few months back.”
“Estate sale?”
“I’m allowed to have hobbies.” Dean snorted, leaned back as the waitress delivered Bela’s omelet and topped off their glasses of juice. Bela took the key in her hand, turned it over so Dean could see the three intertwined circles on the back. "See here, the little engraved insignia? That's what you were looking for, is it not?"
"That'd be it." He reached for the key, but she snatched her hand away, held it out of his reach. "What now?"
"I believe there's the matter of payment? You didn't think this was a favor, did you?"
“Favor or not, what exactly did you expect as payment?”
“What of the ten thousand I gave you boys just a few weeks ago?”
“It was… invested.” Bela raised an eyebrow.
“Oh really? And what is invested’s name… Bambi?”
“Funny. It went towards ammo and laundry and… why am I explaining this to you? Just give me the bag; we’ll call it a loan. You can have your estate sale find back when the case is over, what’s the big deal?”
“Fine.” Dean took a start at her easy agreement; then watched as she slid the chain around her neck, the key settling into her cleavage. As an afterthought, she tossed the satin bag across the table at him. “The key goes, I go, honey. We’ll just call it protecting my investment.”
Dean emitted a growl, slammed back the rest of his juice and pushed away his empty plate, giving a dismissive wave of his hand.
“You want to follow at my heels like a lovesick puppy, that’s fine, I completely understand. Just don’t be gettin’ in my way.”
Her hackles rose but she didn’t take the bait, just propped her chin in her hand and sipped at her coffee.
“So, where are we going?”
“Yeah, actually waiting for a call from Sammy on that, he got a meeting with a professor of urban mythology at the local campus back in West Virginia, should be tracking down the location of the lock as we speak.”
“Excuse me? The lock? Are you saying that before you resorted to calling me, you had neither the key, nor the lock?” She smiled at Dean’s irritated grimace. “Shall I call you Holmes, or Watson?”
“Cute. Hey, I didn’t ask you to tag along, sweetheart, if you think this is some rag-tag operation -” Dean’s rant was cut off by the trill of his cell, Bela chewed on a bite of omelet as he took the call and put it on speaker. “Whatcha got for us, Sam.”
“Us? Who’s ‘us’?”
Bela smiled, gave a little wave at the phone around her fork.
“Hey Sam.”
“Oh, hey… Bela. Okay. Anyway. Professor Ware said that the Cerberus Key was crafted by an nineteenth century locksmith, Jack Henley, who believed that the gateway to the afterlife could only be opened and closed by a device of his making, on an edict of some type of mythical god-like creature who had spoken to him while out in his workshop one night.”
“Are you serious?” Bela asked over the rim of her coffee cup.
“Well, it’s not the craziest thing we’ve dealt with.”
“Yeah yeah, we knew that part. What about the lock?” The waitress delivered the check and Dean slid it over to Bela’s side of the table without a glance.
“She said the lock was built into the side of a hill behind where Henley’s mother was buried. She figures it represented, to him, the closest link to the afterlife.”
“Okay, any ideas where our fellow lived?”
“Actually, yes. His birth and death certificates are on record in Iowa in a town called -”
“He believed the link to the afterlife was in Iowa?” Dean snorted.
“In a town called Spirit Lake.”
“Well, naturally.” Bela shook her head, left a generous tip on the table as she and Dean slid out of the booth.
“Looks like it’s right off US 71. You going alone?” Dean held open the heavy glass door for Bela, took the phone off speaker and tucked it between his shoulder and ear.
“Naw, looks like I’ve got company on this one. Stay there, keep an eye on the professor, and let me know if you find out anything new.” He snapped the phone shut, turned to Bela who stood waiting on the sidewalk. “You’ve got ten minutes to pack - I don’t wanna see any straightening irons. Essentials only. The car is in your building’s underground lot, I’ll meet you there.”
“However did you get by the lot security?” Her only answer was a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows as he gave her a push to get her moving.
She made her deadline, her monogrammed carry-on case rolling behind her as she approached the Impala parked in the spare spot next to her BMW. They squabbled briefly over which car to take; in the end Dean’s reluctance to let Bela in his car lost out to his need to be in the driver’s seat. He tossed her bag in the trunk next to his beat up duffel and allowed her access to the passenger’s seat, rattling off a litany of warnings about not touching this and don’t mess with that. Bela did her best not to pay him any attention.
They fought non-stop on the drive out of the city, Bela giving turn by turn instructions and Dean insisting he knew the way. They turned around three times before making it onto 495.
“You’ll want to take the tunnel out to the turnpike,” Bela scolded, swatting away the map that Dean had unfolded across the front seat.
“I know that!” It was a half-grumble half-yell as he found a break in traffic and cranked the wheel to change lanes.
“Oh yes, it’s obvious you know where you’re going. I’m guessing Sam guides this particular sailboat?”
“Shut up.”
Bela stayed quiet as Dean managed his way out of New York, swearing under his breath at the road, at the other drivers; occasionally at her, but she paid it no mind. He’d snapped off the stereo to concentrate on the road; she thought better than mentioning the stupidity of his choice to navigate the city in morning rush hour traffic.
Dean’s blood pressure settled as they reached Jersey, stopped for gas off of I-80 and picked up soda and bottled water and various snack foods Bela couldn’t imagine consuming under normal circumstances. She grabbed a stack of tabloid magazines and occupied herself with celebrity exploits and the People magazine crossword puzzle as Dean wove through the mountains.
The temperature stayed cool throughout the morning and early part of the afternoon; with the grey skies holding a threat of rain as they continued west. Dean shoved a tape into the deck and hummed along; Bela vaguely recognized a handful of tunes, but appreciation did not come with the recognition. Occasionally he’d surprise her with a comment about a roadside tourist attraction, or a particularly amusing billboard, which would result in a brief conversation; the drive was otherwise companionably silent.
The mountains flattened out into yellow green fields, rolling in gentle waves away from the road towards the horizon. Dean drove with his window down, and the smell of tilled earth and the slight scent of fertilizer wafted in on the damp breeze. They hit a patch of construction late in the day passing through Ohio, Dean was following the orange-marked detour along rural streets when the skies opened and delivered on their promise of rain.
Dean rolled his window up as fat, cold drops splashed onto the Impala; mottled the concrete ahead a darker shade of grey. Turning on his wipers, he slowed on the slip of newly wet road. Bela saw the occupants of the surrounding farmhouses watching the late summer shower from their porches, one elderly gentleman hopping down his wooden steps and doing an impromptu rain-dance in the middle of his yard. The grasses all around were dried up, dying, and dead. The rain brought relief from the drought, the hope of new life before the long winter.
She turned, caught Dean watching the old man as well. They shared an awkward smile before he turned his attention back to the road. They found the interstate again, the rain falling light but steady. Slipping out of her shoes and pulling her feet up underneath her butt, Bela shoved her shoulder into the back of the seat and let her eyes drift shut, one hand fisted lightly around the key.
She was nudged out of her sleep as the car eased to a stop, yellowed light streaming in through the windshield and the rain cooled glass leaving an imprint on her cheek.
“Rise and shine, we’re stopping for the night.”
Bela never really understood that ‘get up, it’s time for bed’ mentality, but she grumbled a response and gathered her purse up off the floor by her feet, drew her jacket around herself and pushed out of the car and into the rain, running closely behind Dean as he made for the motel office. She stood behind him, wringing water out of her hair while he got a double from the tired looking manager at the desk.
“A double?” She asked, less than amused at the prospect of sharing a room.
“Unless you wanna share a king, baby.”
“Not a chance.”
He made her carry her own bag in from the car, she claimed the bed closest to the door, making sure she’d notice if he tried taking off without her during the night. He shouldered his way into the tiny bathroom first, shut the door and cranked on the shower before she could protest.
She kicked off her shoes, peeled off her rain-soaked jacket and clicked on the ancient television. Tuned it to a cooking demonstration infomercial and flopped down on the bedspread that at least had the decency to be clean. She lay staring at the ceiling, eyes half-closed, listening for the shower to shut off when she heard the vibration from the floor. Rolling over, she dug Dean’s phone out of his bag, saw Sam’s name and decided it was her business to answer.
“Hello, Sam,” she said around a barely stifled yawn.
“Heya Bela. Ah, Dean around?” Bela laid back, closed her eyes and balanced the phone next to her ear.
“No, we fought terribly about a hundred miles back. I had to kill him, I’m sure you understand. Left the body on the side of the road and took the car and his phone. It’s you and me now, darling.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“What.”
“He’s in the shower. What can I do for you, Sam?” She rolled over, propped herself on her elbows and watched as not one but two fabulous desserts were made in the same miracle gadget in just minutes.
“Uh, just touching base, I guess. Where you guys at?” Bela checked the cover of the shockingly slim phonebook on the nightstand.
“Brighton, Indiana? It’s like a honeymoon, really.” She smiled brightly as Dean emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and a scowl on his face. He jerked his chin at his phone, held out the hand that wasn’t holding the knot of his towel secure. Bela handed the phone over, made no effort to conceal her ogling of Dean’s naked torso, and slid off the bed, stumbling into the bathroom for her own much-needed shower.
The cramped space still swirled with steam, Bela’s shirt limp as she pulled it over her head, reached down and cranked the hot water back on and noticed Dean’s necklace still hanging over the edge of the sink. She studied the carved amulet, squinted in the haze at the tiny face staring back at her. Held it up for a closer look when the door swung open, Dean reaching his arm in and Bela giving a startled yelp, covering herself the best she could with one arm.
“Give it.” Bela rolled her eyes but obeyed the order, swinging his cherished accessory into his open fist and kicking at the door until it shut again behind him.
When she emerged a half hour later, skin flushed pink and fingers pruny, Dean was on the phone again, ordering pizza from a late night delivery place. She turned her nose up at his selection of toppings, agreed on pepperoni and extra cheese on half. He’d found a Jimmy Stewart retrospective on TCM; Vertigo and Kim Novak kept him entranced while Bela went through her normal nighttime ritual.
She paid for the pizza when it arrived, they ate sitting cross-legged on one of the beds; drank cold liter bottles of Pepsi from the vending machine and fought over the last piece of garlic bread.
“So what did Sam say?” she asked around a bite of pepperoni.
“Got some more info out of the professor lady. I think she’s angling for a date, but that’s just me. The coordinates of the cemetery among other things.” Bela nodded, wiped her fingers on the flimsy paper napkin. They cleaned up after their dinner together; fell asleep watching Rear Window, but not before Dean made a crack about why couldn’t Bela be Grace Kelly instead.
The morning brought grumpy tension slowly loosened with two pots of questionable motel coffee. Bela made Dean carry the luggage back to the Impala, programming the coordinates Sam had given them into her phone’s GPS. Dean was doubtful about its usefulness, but Bela said she was not going to ride around for a day with a map draped over her like an exam blanket.
They drove the rest of the way to Spirit Lake with Dean stabbing at the buttons on the radio, flipping from station to station as the old ones faded into static with the miles put under their tires. Interstate became two-lane highway; and with each new call number brought the same set of standard classic rock hits, Bela growing nauseated with the repetition. She was about to say the Allman Brothers should just settle down and get a damn job already, hypocrisy be damned, when Dean nosed the car to the shoulder of the road and cut the engine.
“We’re here.” Bela looked around; saw nothing but cornfields and never-ending road.
“What do you mean, here? We’re in the middle of nowhere.” Dean pointed to a break in the corn up ahead; a two rut dirt path leading south off of the road.
“We’re walkin’ from here, sweetheart. Guess that new fangled GPS is gonna come in handy after all.”
Bela muttered a stream of damning curses in Dean’s direction as they climbed out of the car, Dean checking the blade he’d strapped to his ankle and the gun shoved into the waistband of his jeans. Bela regarded him with a blank look.
“Think the afterlife is going to jump out and get you?”
“Maybe. Move.”
Bela led the way, marching along with her phone held out in front of her, smacking at Dean when he leaned over her shoulder to check the display for himself, assuring him quite soundly she knew how to read the damned thing. Several hundred yards from the road; the terrain sloped up, corn giving way to an expanse of overgrown lawn. Stumpy trees twisted their branches toward the sky, nearly black leaves fluttering in the light breeze.
They trekked up the incline and found a flattened out field, dotted with plain stone markers in between the trees all the way to a steep stone hillside at the southeast corner. Dean grabbed Bela’s wrist and took off at a jog, half-dragging her across the old cemetery to the hillside.
“Jesus, slow down, Dean,” Bela huffed out as they reached the rough hewn rock. She bent at the waist, hands braced on her thighs as she gasped in air, watched Dean study the opening cut into the side of the hill.
It was an obviously manmade archway, six feet high and three across, cut into a natural indentation in the rock. In the middle was a massive brass plate; deeply scored with a repeating pattern of intertwining rings that matched that on the Cerberus Key; in the center a smooth circle of metal with a perfect keyhole cut through. Bela lost Dean to his thoughts as he ran his fingers over the engravings, studied every inch of the brass plate and the surrounding arch.
She sat down a few feet away, leaned her back against the stone wall and watched the sun start to go down over the trees. He joined her after a few minutes, legs stretching out and taking up space the way only Dean could.
“Now what?” she asked, fiddling with the buttons on her phone.
“Now we wait. Sammy’s professor said the key only worked at first light.”
“First light? Who are we, Lewis and Clark?” she scoffed, earning a laugh from Dean.
They lasted an hour before Bela started in on Dean for not thinking to bring food, or anything to drink; he came back at her that she’d conserve energy by not talking. She fumed in silence for another twenty minutes before Dean remembered the deck of cards in his coat pocket. She beat him at twelve hands of poker in a row before they settled on War, Dean taking the deck on all three games.
When they grew sick of cards Bela suggested they try sleeping, but the ground was damp under the fog that had rolled in after sunset and neither could get comfortable. They wound up talking shop instead, Dean growing so frustrated with Bela’s apparent lack of ethics their conversation soon grew to a shouting match he was sure would raise the dead from beneath their feet.
“Okay, enough!” Bela conceded, throwing up her hands between herself and Dean. “I will recant my earlier assertion that you and your brother are glorified serial killers.”
“Gee thanks.”
“I’m not done.”
“Of course not.”
“I will back down, if you’ll agree my methods aren’t as evil as you make them out to be. Tell me, did they call Robin Hood’s robbing from the rich and giving to the poor ‘evil’?” Dean snorted, shaking his head.
“Some did! Besides, I’m not exactly seeing the comparison, Bela. Seems to me you rob from the rich and sell right back to them. When’s the last time you dealt with the so-called poor?”
“Well I’m here with you now, aren’t I? For free, I might add.” The truth stung, but he had to give her the point.
They settled back into silence then, watching bats flap between the treetops. Dean, ever the gentleman, noted Bela’s increasing shivers and shrugged out of his jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders without comment. She smiled through pressed lips and gathered the jacket around her chest.
“Hey, what if this thing does work? Have we, you know, planned for that?” It was nearly morning, and a hint of anxiety crept into Dean’s voice.
“Oh come on. The man was one step above seeing the Virgin Mary in his Frosted Flakes. The gates of hell, this is not,” Bela replied.
“Yeah I suppose. It’s just…” Dean trailed off, turning his head to face her. “I’ve seen stranger things. I’m sure you have to; doing whatever it is you do. What if we turn that key and this whole damn hill opens up?”
“Why are you so interested?”
“What?” Dean shifted against the stone, his knee bumping against her leg in the dark.
“Why are you so intent on seeing if this ‘key to the afterlife’ really works?”
“It doesn’t. I’m not. It can’t. Of course it can’t,” Dean backpedaled.
“And what if it does? You seem all sorts of anxious about it. Who’s on the other side you’re looking to unlock? Bring back from the dead?”
“Me?” Dean rubbed at the spot where his skull met the stone wall, stared out over the foggy field. “Nobody. There’s no one.” Bela made a small sound in her throat; brought her knees up to her chest. Ignored how unfinished that statement sounded.
“What time is it?” Dean checked his watch in the faint light, nodded.
“Just about. You ready?” Bela fished the key out from underneath Dean’s coat, held it up. “Alright, let’s do this.”
They stood, Bela on one side of the arch and Dean on the other, the hammered brass plate chest-high between them. Bela removed the chain from her neck, gathered it in her fist and aligned the blade with the keyhole. She glanced up at Dean; he put one hand on the small of her back and the other around her hand holding the key.
“On three,” he ordered. She nodded, bracing herself for the unknown. “One, two… three.”
They turned the key together, then let go and stepped back as a soft pop sounded, followed by a long hiss and a blinding white light. Dean held up a hand, shielding his eyes from the light as Bela turned her face into his shoulder. It lasted half a minute at most; then everything fell silent and dark as before. They shared a look and stepped forward, inspecting the altar.
The brass inset had dissolved along its engraved lines, melted and molded into a smooth, solid plate. The keyhole had disappeared. To future observers, it would look like an unembellished grave marker. Bela shook her head, not understanding. Dean laughed bitterly, leaned down and picked up the length of chain, from which hung now only a formless lump of metal.
“Acid burn. Looked like magnesium, some sort of chemical reaction. Sealed off the whole thing.” He took the chunk of metal in his fist. It was still warm. Bela walked over, put her hands around his; looked into his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure what to be sorry for, but she knew this failure went deeper for him than disproving a myth. And she meant what she said. He nodded, shook off her touch, dropped the remnants of the key into his pocket and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“Sam’s gonna meet us out at the road. Didn’t say exactly when, said he’d try to make it before noon. We should try to get some sleep.”
“Yeah, okay.”
They trudged back through the cemetery, arms bumping as they both walked in slightly off-kilter paths in their exhausted state. At one point Bela caught the toe of her boot on the corner of an in-ground gravestone and tripped, nearly falling on her face but Dean caught her; held her around the shoulders as they descended back into the cornfield. As tired and as letdown from their anti-climatic adventure as she was, she didn’t let herself rest her head on his shoulder, lean too much of her weight off of her feet and into his side. At the car, he let her take the backseat; he stretched out in front with his feet on the driver’s seat.
They both dropped into sleep within minutes, necks bent at odd angles and shivering slightly in the cool morning air. Dean woke first a few hours later, colder than Bela without the benefit of his jacket, quietly staggered out of the car and stretched out the kinks with a grimace before hiking into the corn for his morning constitution.
When he returned to the car, she was awake, propped up in the backseat with her back against the door. He leaned his hands on the doorframe, noted her bare feet and smiled. She knew better than to put her shoed feet on his baby’s seats. She raked her hair back from her face, draped an elbow over the front seat, and inclined her head, staring into his face, considering. Dean squinted, shook his head slightly in confusion. She bit the inside of her cheek, bringing on knee up to her chest and leaning forward.
“Get in.”
Dean’s eyes widened, catching the spark in her eye in the pre-dawn light. He didn’t think about it, just bobbed his head in a nod to himself and popped open the back door of the car, sliding onto the bench seat in front of her stretched out leg. She didn’t wait, levered herself onto her knee and slid face to face onto his lap, ducking her head slightly as he slammed the door shut. Her hands on his shoulders, her mouth found his, lips brushing against his tentatively at first, the gentleness surprising him a little through the rush. He pushed his jacket off her shoulders, tossing it onto the front seat.
Gaining his balance, Dean brought a hand around to her back, sliding up the fabric of her shirt to touch her skin. Fingers digging into flesh, he responded to her mouth, parting her lips with his tongue. She tasted sweet and darkly familiar, and he groaned as she bit softly at his lower lip. Her hands pushed at his chest, arching her body away from him as he slid his mouth down the side of her throat. Gripping her waist, he settled her knees around his hips, pressed firmly into the depths of the seat.
Bela’s eyes closed and she turned her face away from him, catching her breath as he buried his face in her neck. Her hands found their way between their bodies, and she tugged at the open edges of his denim. Rolling his shoulders, Dean let her pull the shirt down his arms, hastily helping as it caught at the rolled cuffs. The white t-shirt he wore underneath clung to his sweat slicked skin, and she clawed at the fabric as she dragged it up, nails digging into his back. His arms over his head, elbows and wrists jammed up against the car roof, Bela took the opportunity to lick at the salty skin of his chest.
Dean gritted his teeth, bringing his hands to her thighs, pads of his fingers rubbing against denim. Bela’s mouth was at his throat, testing, tasting, her eyes closed against the smile on her lips. She shifted in his lap, arms around his neck as he buried his face in her hair. She smelled of flowery hotel shampoo and humid earth and he nearly lost himself in the scent before he realized what he was doing. And who he was doing it with.
Sliding his hands from her thighs to her waist, he pulled back, Bela leaning away in response. Her eyes were heavy-lidded from sleep and want, but she saw the reservation on his face just the same. She pressed her lips together, looked away; at the leather of the seat, out the car window, anywhere but at him. Dean propped a knuckle under her chin, turned her back to face him, kept his expression intentionally blank.
“I can’t.” Left out the part about still wanting to, how if she ignored his hesitation and kissed him again he wouldn’t likely stop her. She nodded, handed him his t-shirt.
“Yeah.”
She leaned against the side of the car, arms crossed, suitcase on the gravel shoulder at her feet. He sat on the hood, staring the opposite direction, watched the pearl white SUV crest the small hill a half mile down the road. He squinted into the sun, followed the car as it eased across both lanes and pulled nose to nose with the Impala. Sam unfolded himself from the driver’s seat, scuffed across to Dean’s perch and shook hands with his brother.
“How’d it go?” he asked, glancing over at Bela gathering up her things. Dean shook his head, hopped down off the hood.
“All bark; no bite. Ain’t that right, Bela?” Dean asked as she joined them. She nodded, slid on her sunglasses and held her hand out to Sam. He took the hint and dropped the keys to the Sportage in her palm.
“It’s all yours. You are going to return it, right?” He looked down at her, raising his eyebrows in question. She inclined her head.
“Now Sam, don’t you trust me?” He huffed out a laugh, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.
“Yeah, sure.” She winked at him behind her dark lenses, skirted around the brothers and used the remote entry to pop open the Kia’s back hatch, stowing her luggage. Sam tapped Dean’s arm with the back of his hand to get his attention.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, meaning the case and their utter lack of progress. Dean shook his head once.
“Nope,” he replied, meaning all of it - the case, the key being a bust, and his road trip with Bela. She climbed into the driver’s seat, looking pleased as could be to no longer be a passenger. Dean reached into his pocket, leaned through the lowered driver’s side window; dropped the melted nugget of metal into Bela’s hand.
“Gee, thanks.” She shoved her sunglasses up on top of her head, smiled at him reluctantly as she put the remnants of the key into her purse. He braced his hands on the window frame, stared at her a second, considering. She took the opportunity to cover one of his hands briefly with her own; he quirked a brow and a hint of a smile. “So…”
“So. This mean I can trust you?” Bela’s smile widened, she reached up and patted his cheek before slinging the car into reverse, dropping her sunglasses back into place.
“Absolutely not.” Dean barely cleared the window before she hit the gas, whipping the car around and gunning it down the road. Sam came up behind him, clearing his throat. Dean turned, studied his brother.
“Seriously dude, a Kia?”
“You’ve got lipstick on your face. You really wanna do this?” Sam barely suppressed a grin as Dean glared back at him.
“Get in the car.”
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Bela, Sam
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~5,600
Summary: Dean begrudgingly enlists Bela's help on a case with rather personal implications.
Notes: Written for spn_summerlove and meant to fit into canon between 3.06 and 3.07. Thanks to my beta luv4elvis and my very own mapquest nymeggi .
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Bela reclined on one of the tall stools around her kitchen island, heels on the counter, hands clasped behind her knees, watching her premium French roast brew slowly into the pot. Her hair twisted up at her neck, she felt the slight breeze of movement behind her.
“Losing your touch, Bela.”
She rolled her eyes, not bothering to turn to greet her guest.
“I buzzed you in, darling. Kind of takes away the element of surprise, wouldn’t you say?”
Dean shrugged, taking hold of the back of Bela’s chair, giving her a bit of a twist before rounding the island and snatching up the coffee pot mid-brew. Losing her balance, Bela sat up, tugging the hem of her pajama top down around her hips as she glared at him grumpily. He poured the overly strong sludge into her favorite mug and took a swig, grimacing at the burn.
“Got anything to eat?”
She stared at him blankly, watched the highlight of her morning trickle down his throat and wondered why she had answered his call three days prior. He set down the mug, crossed to the fridge and peered inside. Bela figured its contents of yogurt and several bottles of salad dressing would be less than thrilling. He looked back at her, disgust on his face.
“I drive halfway across the country, all night long, to meet at this god awful hour and you don’t have the decency to feed me? You’re a sick woman, sweetheart.”
He downed the rest of the coffee, swiped the back of his hand across his lips.
“There’s a diner around the corner. Meet me there.” He gave her the once over. “May wanna lose the jammies.”
Bela watched him leave, considered locking her doors and turning off her phone and forgetting the whole thing. A last longing look at her quiet morning interrupted, she headed off to change.
She arrived with Dean’s pancakes, slid into the booth as the waitress set down three kinds of syrup in a rotating caddy. Bela had the warm, sick feeling of too little sleep and zero caffeine; and the sticky sight turned her stomach. She picked up the laminated menu, turned it over in her hands as both the elderly waitress and Dean looked at her. The latter addressed her around a mouthful of syrupy sausage.
“Get a breakfast burrito, guy over there had one, they look awesome.” She made a face.
“Eww. No. Um, egg-white omelet? Orange juice. Coffee.”
The waitress nodded and left, leaving Bela the unpleasant option of watching Dean eat across the table. He paused mid-stack, pointed his fork at her.
“You bring it?” She raised a brow, glared at the tines.
“No, the thought of sharing a meal with you distracted me. This is all for my enjoyment, you see. Of course I brought it.”
She caught the roll of his eyes as she turned in the booth, rummaged around in her purse and came up with a brown satin bag, placed it on the table next to her newly filled coffee cup. She waited until the waitress left to open it, watched Dean’s eyes as he watched her fish out the long length of chain; at the end of it, an innocuous looking brass key.
“When you called asking about it, ever polite as you were, I figured I’d have to call in a few favors, hunt around some, and then I thought about it, realized I picked up something similar at an estate sale a few months back.”
“Estate sale?”
“I’m allowed to have hobbies.” Dean snorted, leaned back as the waitress delivered Bela’s omelet and topped off their glasses of juice. Bela took the key in her hand, turned it over so Dean could see the three intertwined circles on the back. "See here, the little engraved insignia? That's what you were looking for, is it not?"
"That'd be it." He reached for the key, but she snatched her hand away, held it out of his reach. "What now?"
"I believe there's the matter of payment? You didn't think this was a favor, did you?"
“Favor or not, what exactly did you expect as payment?”
“What of the ten thousand I gave you boys just a few weeks ago?”
“It was… invested.” Bela raised an eyebrow.
“Oh really? And what is invested’s name… Bambi?”
“Funny. It went towards ammo and laundry and… why am I explaining this to you? Just give me the bag; we’ll call it a loan. You can have your estate sale find back when the case is over, what’s the big deal?”
“Fine.” Dean took a start at her easy agreement; then watched as she slid the chain around her neck, the key settling into her cleavage. As an afterthought, she tossed the satin bag across the table at him. “The key goes, I go, honey. We’ll just call it protecting my investment.”
Dean emitted a growl, slammed back the rest of his juice and pushed away his empty plate, giving a dismissive wave of his hand.
“You want to follow at my heels like a lovesick puppy, that’s fine, I completely understand. Just don’t be gettin’ in my way.”
Her hackles rose but she didn’t take the bait, just propped her chin in her hand and sipped at her coffee.
“So, where are we going?”
“Yeah, actually waiting for a call from Sammy on that, he got a meeting with a professor of urban mythology at the local campus back in West Virginia, should be tracking down the location of the lock as we speak.”
“Excuse me? The lock? Are you saying that before you resorted to calling me, you had neither the key, nor the lock?” She smiled at Dean’s irritated grimace. “Shall I call you Holmes, or Watson?”
“Cute. Hey, I didn’t ask you to tag along, sweetheart, if you think this is some rag-tag operation -” Dean’s rant was cut off by the trill of his cell, Bela chewed on a bite of omelet as he took the call and put it on speaker. “Whatcha got for us, Sam.”
“Us? Who’s ‘us’?”
Bela smiled, gave a little wave at the phone around her fork.
“Hey Sam.”
“Oh, hey… Bela. Okay. Anyway. Professor Ware said that the Cerberus Key was crafted by an nineteenth century locksmith, Jack Henley, who believed that the gateway to the afterlife could only be opened and closed by a device of his making, on an edict of some type of mythical god-like creature who had spoken to him while out in his workshop one night.”
“Are you serious?” Bela asked over the rim of her coffee cup.
“Well, it’s not the craziest thing we’ve dealt with.”
“Yeah yeah, we knew that part. What about the lock?” The waitress delivered the check and Dean slid it over to Bela’s side of the table without a glance.
“She said the lock was built into the side of a hill behind where Henley’s mother was buried. She figures it represented, to him, the closest link to the afterlife.”
“Okay, any ideas where our fellow lived?”
“Actually, yes. His birth and death certificates are on record in Iowa in a town called -”
“He believed the link to the afterlife was in Iowa?” Dean snorted.
“In a town called Spirit Lake.”
“Well, naturally.” Bela shook her head, left a generous tip on the table as she and Dean slid out of the booth.
“Looks like it’s right off US 71. You going alone?” Dean held open the heavy glass door for Bela, took the phone off speaker and tucked it between his shoulder and ear.
“Naw, looks like I’ve got company on this one. Stay there, keep an eye on the professor, and let me know if you find out anything new.” He snapped the phone shut, turned to Bela who stood waiting on the sidewalk. “You’ve got ten minutes to pack - I don’t wanna see any straightening irons. Essentials only. The car is in your building’s underground lot, I’ll meet you there.”
“However did you get by the lot security?” Her only answer was a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows as he gave her a push to get her moving.
She made her deadline, her monogrammed carry-on case rolling behind her as she approached the Impala parked in the spare spot next to her BMW. They squabbled briefly over which car to take; in the end Dean’s reluctance to let Bela in his car lost out to his need to be in the driver’s seat. He tossed her bag in the trunk next to his beat up duffel and allowed her access to the passenger’s seat, rattling off a litany of warnings about not touching this and don’t mess with that. Bela did her best not to pay him any attention.
They fought non-stop on the drive out of the city, Bela giving turn by turn instructions and Dean insisting he knew the way. They turned around three times before making it onto 495.
“You’ll want to take the tunnel out to the turnpike,” Bela scolded, swatting away the map that Dean had unfolded across the front seat.
“I know that!” It was a half-grumble half-yell as he found a break in traffic and cranked the wheel to change lanes.
“Oh yes, it’s obvious you know where you’re going. I’m guessing Sam guides this particular sailboat?”
“Shut up.”
Bela stayed quiet as Dean managed his way out of New York, swearing under his breath at the road, at the other drivers; occasionally at her, but she paid it no mind. He’d snapped off the stereo to concentrate on the road; she thought better than mentioning the stupidity of his choice to navigate the city in morning rush hour traffic.
Dean’s blood pressure settled as they reached Jersey, stopped for gas off of I-80 and picked up soda and bottled water and various snack foods Bela couldn’t imagine consuming under normal circumstances. She grabbed a stack of tabloid magazines and occupied herself with celebrity exploits and the People magazine crossword puzzle as Dean wove through the mountains.
The temperature stayed cool throughout the morning and early part of the afternoon; with the grey skies holding a threat of rain as they continued west. Dean shoved a tape into the deck and hummed along; Bela vaguely recognized a handful of tunes, but appreciation did not come with the recognition. Occasionally he’d surprise her with a comment about a roadside tourist attraction, or a particularly amusing billboard, which would result in a brief conversation; the drive was otherwise companionably silent.
The mountains flattened out into yellow green fields, rolling in gentle waves away from the road towards the horizon. Dean drove with his window down, and the smell of tilled earth and the slight scent of fertilizer wafted in on the damp breeze. They hit a patch of construction late in the day passing through Ohio, Dean was following the orange-marked detour along rural streets when the skies opened and delivered on their promise of rain.
Dean rolled his window up as fat, cold drops splashed onto the Impala; mottled the concrete ahead a darker shade of grey. Turning on his wipers, he slowed on the slip of newly wet road. Bela saw the occupants of the surrounding farmhouses watching the late summer shower from their porches, one elderly gentleman hopping down his wooden steps and doing an impromptu rain-dance in the middle of his yard. The grasses all around were dried up, dying, and dead. The rain brought relief from the drought, the hope of new life before the long winter.
She turned, caught Dean watching the old man as well. They shared an awkward smile before he turned his attention back to the road. They found the interstate again, the rain falling light but steady. Slipping out of her shoes and pulling her feet up underneath her butt, Bela shoved her shoulder into the back of the seat and let her eyes drift shut, one hand fisted lightly around the key.
She was nudged out of her sleep as the car eased to a stop, yellowed light streaming in through the windshield and the rain cooled glass leaving an imprint on her cheek.
“Rise and shine, we’re stopping for the night.”
Bela never really understood that ‘get up, it’s time for bed’ mentality, but she grumbled a response and gathered her purse up off the floor by her feet, drew her jacket around herself and pushed out of the car and into the rain, running closely behind Dean as he made for the motel office. She stood behind him, wringing water out of her hair while he got a double from the tired looking manager at the desk.
“A double?” She asked, less than amused at the prospect of sharing a room.
“Unless you wanna share a king, baby.”
“Not a chance.”
He made her carry her own bag in from the car, she claimed the bed closest to the door, making sure she’d notice if he tried taking off without her during the night. He shouldered his way into the tiny bathroom first, shut the door and cranked on the shower before she could protest.
She kicked off her shoes, peeled off her rain-soaked jacket and clicked on the ancient television. Tuned it to a cooking demonstration infomercial and flopped down on the bedspread that at least had the decency to be clean. She lay staring at the ceiling, eyes half-closed, listening for the shower to shut off when she heard the vibration from the floor. Rolling over, she dug Dean’s phone out of his bag, saw Sam’s name and decided it was her business to answer.
“Hello, Sam,” she said around a barely stifled yawn.
“Heya Bela. Ah, Dean around?” Bela laid back, closed her eyes and balanced the phone next to her ear.
“No, we fought terribly about a hundred miles back. I had to kill him, I’m sure you understand. Left the body on the side of the road and took the car and his phone. It’s you and me now, darling.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“What.”
“He’s in the shower. What can I do for you, Sam?” She rolled over, propped herself on her elbows and watched as not one but two fabulous desserts were made in the same miracle gadget in just minutes.
“Uh, just touching base, I guess. Where you guys at?” Bela checked the cover of the shockingly slim phonebook on the nightstand.
“Brighton, Indiana? It’s like a honeymoon, really.” She smiled brightly as Dean emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and a scowl on his face. He jerked his chin at his phone, held out the hand that wasn’t holding the knot of his towel secure. Bela handed the phone over, made no effort to conceal her ogling of Dean’s naked torso, and slid off the bed, stumbling into the bathroom for her own much-needed shower.
The cramped space still swirled with steam, Bela’s shirt limp as she pulled it over her head, reached down and cranked the hot water back on and noticed Dean’s necklace still hanging over the edge of the sink. She studied the carved amulet, squinted in the haze at the tiny face staring back at her. Held it up for a closer look when the door swung open, Dean reaching his arm in and Bela giving a startled yelp, covering herself the best she could with one arm.
“Give it.” Bela rolled her eyes but obeyed the order, swinging his cherished accessory into his open fist and kicking at the door until it shut again behind him.
When she emerged a half hour later, skin flushed pink and fingers pruny, Dean was on the phone again, ordering pizza from a late night delivery place. She turned her nose up at his selection of toppings, agreed on pepperoni and extra cheese on half. He’d found a Jimmy Stewart retrospective on TCM; Vertigo and Kim Novak kept him entranced while Bela went through her normal nighttime ritual.
She paid for the pizza when it arrived, they ate sitting cross-legged on one of the beds; drank cold liter bottles of Pepsi from the vending machine and fought over the last piece of garlic bread.
“So what did Sam say?” she asked around a bite of pepperoni.
“Got some more info out of the professor lady. I think she’s angling for a date, but that’s just me. The coordinates of the cemetery among other things.” Bela nodded, wiped her fingers on the flimsy paper napkin. They cleaned up after their dinner together; fell asleep watching Rear Window, but not before Dean made a crack about why couldn’t Bela be Grace Kelly instead.
The morning brought grumpy tension slowly loosened with two pots of questionable motel coffee. Bela made Dean carry the luggage back to the Impala, programming the coordinates Sam had given them into her phone’s GPS. Dean was doubtful about its usefulness, but Bela said she was not going to ride around for a day with a map draped over her like an exam blanket.
They drove the rest of the way to Spirit Lake with Dean stabbing at the buttons on the radio, flipping from station to station as the old ones faded into static with the miles put under their tires. Interstate became two-lane highway; and with each new call number brought the same set of standard classic rock hits, Bela growing nauseated with the repetition. She was about to say the Allman Brothers should just settle down and get a damn job already, hypocrisy be damned, when Dean nosed the car to the shoulder of the road and cut the engine.
“We’re here.” Bela looked around; saw nothing but cornfields and never-ending road.
“What do you mean, here? We’re in the middle of nowhere.” Dean pointed to a break in the corn up ahead; a two rut dirt path leading south off of the road.
“We’re walkin’ from here, sweetheart. Guess that new fangled GPS is gonna come in handy after all.”
Bela muttered a stream of damning curses in Dean’s direction as they climbed out of the car, Dean checking the blade he’d strapped to his ankle and the gun shoved into the waistband of his jeans. Bela regarded him with a blank look.
“Think the afterlife is going to jump out and get you?”
“Maybe. Move.”
Bela led the way, marching along with her phone held out in front of her, smacking at Dean when he leaned over her shoulder to check the display for himself, assuring him quite soundly she knew how to read the damned thing. Several hundred yards from the road; the terrain sloped up, corn giving way to an expanse of overgrown lawn. Stumpy trees twisted their branches toward the sky, nearly black leaves fluttering in the light breeze.
They trekked up the incline and found a flattened out field, dotted with plain stone markers in between the trees all the way to a steep stone hillside at the southeast corner. Dean grabbed Bela’s wrist and took off at a jog, half-dragging her across the old cemetery to the hillside.
“Jesus, slow down, Dean,” Bela huffed out as they reached the rough hewn rock. She bent at the waist, hands braced on her thighs as she gasped in air, watched Dean study the opening cut into the side of the hill.
It was an obviously manmade archway, six feet high and three across, cut into a natural indentation in the rock. In the middle was a massive brass plate; deeply scored with a repeating pattern of intertwining rings that matched that on the Cerberus Key; in the center a smooth circle of metal with a perfect keyhole cut through. Bela lost Dean to his thoughts as he ran his fingers over the engravings, studied every inch of the brass plate and the surrounding arch.
She sat down a few feet away, leaned her back against the stone wall and watched the sun start to go down over the trees. He joined her after a few minutes, legs stretching out and taking up space the way only Dean could.
“Now what?” she asked, fiddling with the buttons on her phone.
“Now we wait. Sammy’s professor said the key only worked at first light.”
“First light? Who are we, Lewis and Clark?” she scoffed, earning a laugh from Dean.
They lasted an hour before Bela started in on Dean for not thinking to bring food, or anything to drink; he came back at her that she’d conserve energy by not talking. She fumed in silence for another twenty minutes before Dean remembered the deck of cards in his coat pocket. She beat him at twelve hands of poker in a row before they settled on War, Dean taking the deck on all three games.
When they grew sick of cards Bela suggested they try sleeping, but the ground was damp under the fog that had rolled in after sunset and neither could get comfortable. They wound up talking shop instead, Dean growing so frustrated with Bela’s apparent lack of ethics their conversation soon grew to a shouting match he was sure would raise the dead from beneath their feet.
“Okay, enough!” Bela conceded, throwing up her hands between herself and Dean. “I will recant my earlier assertion that you and your brother are glorified serial killers.”
“Gee thanks.”
“I’m not done.”
“Of course not.”
“I will back down, if you’ll agree my methods aren’t as evil as you make them out to be. Tell me, did they call Robin Hood’s robbing from the rich and giving to the poor ‘evil’?” Dean snorted, shaking his head.
“Some did! Besides, I’m not exactly seeing the comparison, Bela. Seems to me you rob from the rich and sell right back to them. When’s the last time you dealt with the so-called poor?”
“Well I’m here with you now, aren’t I? For free, I might add.” The truth stung, but he had to give her the point.
They settled back into silence then, watching bats flap between the treetops. Dean, ever the gentleman, noted Bela’s increasing shivers and shrugged out of his jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders without comment. She smiled through pressed lips and gathered the jacket around her chest.
“Hey, what if this thing does work? Have we, you know, planned for that?” It was nearly morning, and a hint of anxiety crept into Dean’s voice.
“Oh come on. The man was one step above seeing the Virgin Mary in his Frosted Flakes. The gates of hell, this is not,” Bela replied.
“Yeah I suppose. It’s just…” Dean trailed off, turning his head to face her. “I’ve seen stranger things. I’m sure you have to; doing whatever it is you do. What if we turn that key and this whole damn hill opens up?”
“Why are you so interested?”
“What?” Dean shifted against the stone, his knee bumping against her leg in the dark.
“Why are you so intent on seeing if this ‘key to the afterlife’ really works?”
“It doesn’t. I’m not. It can’t. Of course it can’t,” Dean backpedaled.
“And what if it does? You seem all sorts of anxious about it. Who’s on the other side you’re looking to unlock? Bring back from the dead?”
“Me?” Dean rubbed at the spot where his skull met the stone wall, stared out over the foggy field. “Nobody. There’s no one.” Bela made a small sound in her throat; brought her knees up to her chest. Ignored how unfinished that statement sounded.
“What time is it?” Dean checked his watch in the faint light, nodded.
“Just about. You ready?” Bela fished the key out from underneath Dean’s coat, held it up. “Alright, let’s do this.”
They stood, Bela on one side of the arch and Dean on the other, the hammered brass plate chest-high between them. Bela removed the chain from her neck, gathered it in her fist and aligned the blade with the keyhole. She glanced up at Dean; he put one hand on the small of her back and the other around her hand holding the key.
“On three,” he ordered. She nodded, bracing herself for the unknown. “One, two… three.”
They turned the key together, then let go and stepped back as a soft pop sounded, followed by a long hiss and a blinding white light. Dean held up a hand, shielding his eyes from the light as Bela turned her face into his shoulder. It lasted half a minute at most; then everything fell silent and dark as before. They shared a look and stepped forward, inspecting the altar.
The brass inset had dissolved along its engraved lines, melted and molded into a smooth, solid plate. The keyhole had disappeared. To future observers, it would look like an unembellished grave marker. Bela shook her head, not understanding. Dean laughed bitterly, leaned down and picked up the length of chain, from which hung now only a formless lump of metal.
“Acid burn. Looked like magnesium, some sort of chemical reaction. Sealed off the whole thing.” He took the chunk of metal in his fist. It was still warm. Bela walked over, put her hands around his; looked into his eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She wasn’t sure what to be sorry for, but she knew this failure went deeper for him than disproving a myth. And she meant what she said. He nodded, shook off her touch, dropped the remnants of the key into his pocket and rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“Sam’s gonna meet us out at the road. Didn’t say exactly when, said he’d try to make it before noon. We should try to get some sleep.”
“Yeah, okay.”
They trudged back through the cemetery, arms bumping as they both walked in slightly off-kilter paths in their exhausted state. At one point Bela caught the toe of her boot on the corner of an in-ground gravestone and tripped, nearly falling on her face but Dean caught her; held her around the shoulders as they descended back into the cornfield. As tired and as letdown from their anti-climatic adventure as she was, she didn’t let herself rest her head on his shoulder, lean too much of her weight off of her feet and into his side. At the car, he let her take the backseat; he stretched out in front with his feet on the driver’s seat.
They both dropped into sleep within minutes, necks bent at odd angles and shivering slightly in the cool morning air. Dean woke first a few hours later, colder than Bela without the benefit of his jacket, quietly staggered out of the car and stretched out the kinks with a grimace before hiking into the corn for his morning constitution.
When he returned to the car, she was awake, propped up in the backseat with her back against the door. He leaned his hands on the doorframe, noted her bare feet and smiled. She knew better than to put her shoed feet on his baby’s seats. She raked her hair back from her face, draped an elbow over the front seat, and inclined her head, staring into his face, considering. Dean squinted, shook his head slightly in confusion. She bit the inside of her cheek, bringing on knee up to her chest and leaning forward.
“Get in.”
Dean’s eyes widened, catching the spark in her eye in the pre-dawn light. He didn’t think about it, just bobbed his head in a nod to himself and popped open the back door of the car, sliding onto the bench seat in front of her stretched out leg. She didn’t wait, levered herself onto her knee and slid face to face onto his lap, ducking her head slightly as he slammed the door shut. Her hands on his shoulders, her mouth found his, lips brushing against his tentatively at first, the gentleness surprising him a little through the rush. He pushed his jacket off her shoulders, tossing it onto the front seat.
Gaining his balance, Dean brought a hand around to her back, sliding up the fabric of her shirt to touch her skin. Fingers digging into flesh, he responded to her mouth, parting her lips with his tongue. She tasted sweet and darkly familiar, and he groaned as she bit softly at his lower lip. Her hands pushed at his chest, arching her body away from him as he slid his mouth down the side of her throat. Gripping her waist, he settled her knees around his hips, pressed firmly into the depths of the seat.
Bela’s eyes closed and she turned her face away from him, catching her breath as he buried his face in her neck. Her hands found their way between their bodies, and she tugged at the open edges of his denim. Rolling his shoulders, Dean let her pull the shirt down his arms, hastily helping as it caught at the rolled cuffs. The white t-shirt he wore underneath clung to his sweat slicked skin, and she clawed at the fabric as she dragged it up, nails digging into his back. His arms over his head, elbows and wrists jammed up against the car roof, Bela took the opportunity to lick at the salty skin of his chest.
Dean gritted his teeth, bringing his hands to her thighs, pads of his fingers rubbing against denim. Bela’s mouth was at his throat, testing, tasting, her eyes closed against the smile on her lips. She shifted in his lap, arms around his neck as he buried his face in her hair. She smelled of flowery hotel shampoo and humid earth and he nearly lost himself in the scent before he realized what he was doing. And who he was doing it with.
Sliding his hands from her thighs to her waist, he pulled back, Bela leaning away in response. Her eyes were heavy-lidded from sleep and want, but she saw the reservation on his face just the same. She pressed her lips together, looked away; at the leather of the seat, out the car window, anywhere but at him. Dean propped a knuckle under her chin, turned her back to face him, kept his expression intentionally blank.
“I can’t.” Left out the part about still wanting to, how if she ignored his hesitation and kissed him again he wouldn’t likely stop her. She nodded, handed him his t-shirt.
“Yeah.”
She leaned against the side of the car, arms crossed, suitcase on the gravel shoulder at her feet. He sat on the hood, staring the opposite direction, watched the pearl white SUV crest the small hill a half mile down the road. He squinted into the sun, followed the car as it eased across both lanes and pulled nose to nose with the Impala. Sam unfolded himself from the driver’s seat, scuffed across to Dean’s perch and shook hands with his brother.
“How’d it go?” he asked, glancing over at Bela gathering up her things. Dean shook his head, hopped down off the hood.
“All bark; no bite. Ain’t that right, Bela?” Dean asked as she joined them. She nodded, slid on her sunglasses and held her hand out to Sam. He took the hint and dropped the keys to the Sportage in her palm.
“It’s all yours. You are going to return it, right?” He looked down at her, raising his eyebrows in question. She inclined her head.
“Now Sam, don’t you trust me?” He huffed out a laugh, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.
“Yeah, sure.” She winked at him behind her dark lenses, skirted around the brothers and used the remote entry to pop open the Kia’s back hatch, stowing her luggage. Sam tapped Dean’s arm with the back of his hand to get his attention.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, meaning the case and their utter lack of progress. Dean shook his head once.
“Nope,” he replied, meaning all of it - the case, the key being a bust, and his road trip with Bela. She climbed into the driver’s seat, looking pleased as could be to no longer be a passenger. Dean reached into his pocket, leaned through the lowered driver’s side window; dropped the melted nugget of metal into Bela’s hand.
“Gee, thanks.” She shoved her sunglasses up on top of her head, smiled at him reluctantly as she put the remnants of the key into her purse. He braced his hands on the window frame, stared at her a second, considering. She took the opportunity to cover one of his hands briefly with her own; he quirked a brow and a hint of a smile. “So…”
“So. This mean I can trust you?” Bela’s smile widened, she reached up and patted his cheek before slinging the car into reverse, dropping her sunglasses back into place.
“Absolutely not.” Dean barely cleared the window before she hit the gas, whipping the car around and gunning it down the road. Sam came up behind him, clearing his throat. Dean turned, studied his brother.
“Seriously dude, a Kia?”
“You’ve got lipstick on your face. You really wanna do this?” Sam barely suppressed a grin as Dean glared back at him.
“Get in the car.”