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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Smoke Eater - Part 2

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: I was overwhelmed by the response on Part 1 (in the BEST way). 🥹 Thank you so much for everyone who read and sent me your lovely amazing comments! Here's Part 2 a bit early for ya. 😘

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 6,400 Tags/Warnings: Idiots flirting, with a side of sexual harassment. 😪

Part 2: "Lieutenant Winchester"

Firehouse 25 was just as much a house as it was a home.

Especially for Dean Winchester.

In the common room, he sat down at his preferred corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee. By now, the guys knew this was his spot, perfectly angled toward the new flatscreen TV someone donated last month.

Up until then, they’d had to hotwire the same tank from 1995, which had only got basic cable. Now at least the newer smart TV came with a subscription to Netflix, courtesy of the donor.

Dean raised his favorite Batman mug to his face, expecting to imbibe some rich dark roast. What he got was a travesty.

Spitting out the brown soil water back into the mug, he coughed and grimaced.

“Jack!” he called out.

Jack Kline, the newest addition to the house, raised his head from where he was trying to scramble eggs in the open kitchen directly behind the couch.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” he replied.

“Why does this coffee taste like ass?” Dean asked. His voice was still gruff with sleep, as he depended on his morning coffee to wake him up, not assault his tongue.

Behind him, Jack blinked in confusion. “Uh…”

Dean finally turned around and gave the younger man a raised brow.

“What brand did you buy, Candidate?” he asked.

A candidate was a freshly graduated firefighter on probation. They were the rookie, the bottom rung of the totem pole, and Jack was that proverbial whipping post.

“Um…” Jack went to find the coffee canister he’d put away in the cupboards. He showed Dean the red plastic jug. “Folgers. It was on sale.”

“Fuck me,” Dean muttered. “Never Folgers, Candidate. Anything but fucking Folgers. The one thing we don’t skimp out on is quality joe.”

“That ain’t nothin’ but dirt water, son,” Benny remarked, as he and Gordon entered the common room. Benny held a to-go mug he’d brought from home. After he’d seen what Jack brought for groceries yesterday, he’d taken no chances.

“What you wanna get is Gevalia,” Benny added.

“That European crap?” said Gordon. He took his usual spot at the dining table, leaning back in his chair. It left Benny to sit at the other end of the couch with Dean.

“Better than that piss water you drink,” Benny said with a smirk. Gordon raised a brow at him.

“Tea is medicinal, jackass.” The Black man raised a finger to punctuate his point. “It’s good for you. Unlike that carburetor fluid y’all drink.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean said, even though a grin edged at his lips. “All I know is, we need premium coffee, stat. Or it’s gonna be a cranky shift.”

“I can go to the store real quick,” Jack offered.

Say what you want about the kid’s poor taste in grocery buying, he was always willing to jump in when you needed him.

“Nah, stay on breakfast,” said Dean. “I’ll go afterwards. But remember, today you’re practicing rappelling drills.”

Jack nodded. “And lunch duty. And helping clean the truck, and all the bathrooms…did I miss anything?”

Dean shared a look with Gordon. Not only did he drive the truck, but he was one of the men Dean relied on most, as he had the next highest seniority on the job out of the whole firehouse.

Well, except for Benny Lafitte, Captain of the Rescue Squad. Squad members were considered specialists in complex rescue situations. They were highly trained on more sophisticated technical rescue equipment and rappelling, even scuba diving.

It took long years for a firefighter to make it onto Squad; something that Dean used to have ambitions for. But ever since he got promoted to Lieutenant on Truck 79, he realized that his role in this house was best served on the Truck, not on Squad.

“If he gets through all that, Meg might have something for him too,” Gordon said.

“Oh, don’t bring me into this,” remarked a droll voice. “I’ve already got one pound puppy to look after.”

Their Paramedic in Charge strode in with Chuck on her heels. They’d just pulled into the firehouse driveway on Ambulance 7.

“Nice. That’s how you talk about your partner of three years?” Chuck said with a frown. Meg turned to him with a wry grin.

“Only the ones who can hack it on my Ambo,” she replied. “What can I say. You’re special, Shurley. Either that, or a glutton for punishment.”

Gordon shook his head and looked over at Jack.

“Careful with that one. She chewed and hacked out her last partner in under a month.”

“Poor guy didn’t even transfer,” Dean added, making a “flatlining” motion with his hand. “He just quit. Dropped out of the Fire Academy that same day.”

Not all firefighters were made through Meg’s department, but it was a common route, working as a paramedic while getting put through your paces in the Fire Academy. Dean himself had gone straight to the Academy after getting his EMT certification.

But at Dean’s words, Jack’s eyes widened a fraction. Meg turned to him with an almost feline smile.

“How was the call?” Benny asked her, speaking of the job they’d just returned from. Meg’s expression dimmed a little, as did Chuck’s as they both sat down at the table.

“Ah, just Henry again,” she said. “Overdosed on his insulin.”

Benny frowned, while Dean shook his head. Jack’s brows furrowed.

“Who’s Henry?” he asked.

Meg sat back in her chair with a subtle sigh. Knowing his work partner’s mood, Chuck answered the young man’s question.

“He’s homeless, lives by the river,” he said. “He’s one of our ‘regulars,’ you could say. When we get the call, usually he’s passed out. Dehydration. But sometimes it’s more serious.”

“You can’t take him to the hospital?” Jack asked in concern.

“Today we did,” Meg said. Her brown eyes met Jack’s, her mouth in a thin line. “But without health insurance, there’s only so much they can do after they get him stable.”

That fell a bit heavily into the room. It wasn’t a pleasant fact, but it was the reality. Jack was learning more and more about that aspect of this job, and learning if he could handle the darker shades of what it could bring.

“Well, breakfast is ready,” he said, bringing a large plate of eggs and toast onto the counter. Dean tossed him an appreciative half-smile and got up from the couch.

“Thanks, kid,” he said, walking over along with everyone else. He took a moment to pat Jack on the shoulder.

“What do you want to do first: run drills, or help me and Gordon wash the truck?” Dean asked.

Jack looked up with a smile. “Can we run drills first?”

Dean nodded, grinning back at him. “Good answer.”

The rest of the Truck and Squad crews ambled in at both the announcement and the smell of food. And before long, the common room was filled with conversation, good-natured teasing, and shitty coffee all around.

From his vantage point facing the open door to the driveway, Benny caught sight of a young woman heading towards the double doors with a large tupperware bin in hand. Bonnie the receptionist happened to be coming in at the same time. You asked her a question Benny couldn’t quite hear.

“Dean… Oh, you’re looking for Lieutenant Winchester?” Bonnie asked. Her voice tended to carry. “Right in there, hun.”

“Well, that sure is interesting,” Benny murmured with a smile. He glanced over slyly at his friend. “Heads up, brother.”

Dean looked up from his plate of eggs expectantly. Benny gestured over with his eyes, just as you walked into the firehouse, both cautious and unsure of where you were going.

Dean’s brows raised. He found himself setting down his plate and getting up from the couch before he really knew what he was doing.

You looked exactly how he remembered. Though this time, you weren’t coffee stained in your professional blouse and black pencil skirt. His attention drew briefly downwards to your heels, this time solid black (and even taller than the last pair, damn).

He noticed all the same things he had last time: the shade of your hair, pinned up again with a clip as stray pieces framed your face. The way you carried yourself when you finally saw him, straightening with a subtle confidence in your shoulders, even though you looked a bit nervous. And the pretty curve of your lips when your eyes found his.

“Hey, there,” Dean said. He gave you one of his trademark smiles. “Good to see you again.”

“Uh, hi,” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you remember me.”

Dean nodded. “‘Course I do. What can I do for you?”

Your face seemed to freeze up a bit as you looked up at him.

“Oh, um, nothing really. I just wanted to say thank you, again,” you said. And you glanced past him, where the rest of the firehouse members were discreetly watching. “All of you, actually. And my friend told me that firefighters really like food…but, I mean, doesn’t everyone?”

You laughed a little, in a nervous way that made Dean struggle not to smile too much.

“Anyway, I like to bake,” you twittered on, “and I had some time this week after…well, you know what happened. So…I brought this!”

You raised up your tupperware with a smile.

And you were damn adorable, Dean thought. His own smile deepened as he glanced down at the offering, then at you. He took the container and opened the lid, and was honestly surprised at what he saw.

He could’ve sworn these were Bonafede, just-poured-out-of-the-box Girl Scout cookies. Dozens of them. He saw shortbreads (complete with the little wavy lines), Samoa cookies with the coconut flakes, and even what looked like chocolate covered Thin Mints. They also smelled delicious.

“Wow. Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, with genuine warmth. “I’m pretty sure the guys are gonna tear these apart the second I put ‘em down.”

Your face brightened, and Dean noticed how it reached your eyes with a bit of a blush.

“Well, I hope you guys enjoy,” you said. Your hands fiddled with your purse next.

“Heading off to work now?” he asked.

“Yep,” you nodded, with a certain glint in your eye. “I plan on taking the stairs this time.”

Dean raised a brow. “All 22 floors?”

“Gotta get my steps in somehow,” you joked. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to become a repeat offender, make you guys come all the way back across town again.”

“Aw, I wouldn’t mind,” he said, meeting your eyes. And he found that he meant it. In fact, he didn’t think he’d mind if your building’s elevator broke down every damn week.

Your expression shifted towards amusement. “Well, you must be very dedicated to your job.”

“Protect and serve,” Dean teased back. “That’s our motto, you know.”

“Isn’t that for police officers?” you quipped.

He chuckled. “Hey, if the shoe fits.”

“Well…” you considered that with a tilt of your head, more seriously than he expected you to. You met him with a more earnest gaze. “I think it does.”

Right then, Dean had a feeling, deep in his gut, that he needed to know you. He had half a mind to heed his instincts, to take advantage of the signals he thought you were sending him, and ask if he could take you out sometime.

But it was unprofessional here at the firehouse (not that that had stopped him before). He’d been making efforts to curb that kind of behavior for the past few months.

He also remembered the 30 floors of your massive, fancy office building. He considered the price tags that probably came with the admittedly sexy, high-powered corporate look you had going on. Those were probably a lot more zeros than he was used to seeing on his paycheck.

So for once, he didn’t pull the trigger.

“Well, thanks. I really do appreciate that,” Dean replied. His smile then was more sincere, if also more professional. He gestured at the container in his hand. “And on behalf of all the guys, thanks for this too.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied. “I have to go, but…thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester.”

“Ah,” he shook his head, “just call me Dean.”

You agreed by smiling, just a little bit more.

“Dean.”

He nodded back, sending you off with a smile of his own. He forced himself to taper it down after you left, and he had to turn around to meet his friends. Their grins reminded him of piranhas.

“All right. Out with it, you freakin’ jackals.” He waved his free hand in a “bring it on” gesture.

Meg was the first one to burst out laughing. It spearheaded the rest of them, whooping and catcalling and generally being menaces. Even Jack was grinning at his lieutenant’s expense.

Meg got up from her seat and bumped Dean’s shoulder on her way to the kitchen, where she dumped her dishes.

“Thanks again, Lieutenant Winchester,” she mocked in a saccharine sweet voice. Then she lowered it into an exaggerated mimic of his deeper one, “Call me Dean, baby girl. Fucking priceless. You should get your own Hallmark movie.”

Dean rolled his eyes. He’d been prepared for this, but his face was still getting warm.

“Shut up, Meg,” he tossed back. They all had an ongoing Family Guy joke that never failed to make their PIC narrow her eyes. And she did so now, giving him a fake grimace as she left the kitchen.

“All right, kiddos. If you need me, don’t,” she said. “Chuck! Let’s sort the ambo’s inventory.”

“Got it,” her partner nodded. He too got up and placed his dishes in the sink before he took off after Meg.

This left Dean with the rest of the guys, who still gave him knowing smiles as he set your bin of cookies down on the table. He blew out a breath before he returned to the couch and sat down heavily across from Benny and Gordon.

“I never thought I’d see the day that Dean Winchester bitched out,” Gordon remarked.

Once again, Dean rolled his eyes.

“Truly incredible,” Benny added. He shook his head when Dean just crossed his arms. “She was eying you like a pork cutlet, and you just let her walk outta here.”

“We’re in the house, guys. What was I supposed to do?” Dean groused.

Benny and Gordon looked at him like he’d just denounced Led Zeppelin (his favorite band of all time).

“Get her goddamn number, Winchester,” said Gordon. The man’s lips curved. “Or at least, introduce her to a brother.”

Dean shot him a glance. Gordon Walker was damn good at driving the truck, but he was also known for being a hunter of the ladies himself.

“She seemed nice,” Jack put his two cents in with a smile. He was standing behind the couch, leaning his elbows on it. Gordon scoffed, nodding his agreement.

“Yeah, with a fat ass too,” he said, sipping his tea.

Benny reached over and hit his shoulder to shut him up.

“That’s a lady, Gordon,” he said. Though a suspect smile graced his lips as he glanced at Dean. “A lady with a nice ass.”

Dean shook his head, but he couldn’t disagree. The first time he met you, he’d been impressed by the way you stood your ground with your asshole boss. Dean thought you were going to chuck that lethal looking heel at the guy. But behind that steely exterior was a kind little softie.

Today, he got your sweet side. It was equal parts sexy and adorable.

And damn if you didn’t have a nice ass, nice curves, and a nice mouth.

But your eyes, he thought. Those were nothing short of beautiful.

About twenty minutes across town, an apartment building was swarmed by police cars. One unit in particular was sealed off with yellow caution tape as a team of officers drifted in and out.

What a fucked way to die.

Detective John Winchester observed the unnatural angle that the victim—Jerry Stillwell, a certified public accountant—had his throat cut with a jagged weapon.

It hadn’t been clean in the least. And he’d bled out across his work desk and a stack of papers, as well as his desktop computer. He was 45, unmarried, and murdered in his own home in the middle of a Friday afternoon.

The computer wouldn’t turn on, and not because of the blood. It had been wiped with magnetized technology, most likely by the intruder. Though there was no sign of forced entry, according to John’s partner. The murder weapon was missing as well, though it looked like a knife wound.

John leaned over the on-site medical examiner’s shoulder to peer closer at the man’s wounds. Stillwell had most likely been grabbed from behind. So far, the signs pointed to the culprit being someone the victim knew.

They probably took Stillwell by surprise, but he was a large man. If John had to guess, over 250 pounds, unathletic, but still, not easy to overpower. Likely the suspect was a man over 6 feet; strong, and efficient. Though the messiness of the kill made John think this guy took "pride" his work, so to speak.

“Signs of struggle,” said the M.E. “Skin under the fingernails. He fought back, and…huh.”

John’s interest piqued at the man’s shift in tone. “What?”

“Take a look at this.” The M.E. was holding Stillwell’s right hand, palm-up, revealing a small burn on the inside of the wrist. John’s gaze sharpened on the mark.

“Cas, come here,” he said. Across the room, Detective Cas Novak paused in his task of examining the entry points of the apartment to join John at his side. His blue eyes widened a fraction at seeing the burn. It was a symbol of a snake eating its own tail.

“That makes four,” Cas said.

“Yep. We’ve got ourselves a murder cluster,” John said. Cas nodded. He beckoned John to the side, making sure the M.E. was out of earshot before he spoke. “Isn’t it time we brought Sam up to speed on this, at least?”

John’s brows furrowed.

“No,” he said. “Sam’s an ADA. We don’t go to him until we have someone to indict.”

He walked away from Cas, who frowned. John knew damn well that wasn’t what he meant. This was the fourth murder within six months of this nature. The fourth to be branded with the mark of Azazel…a criminal who supposedly disappeared decades ago.

Shortly after November 2, 1983, the day of Mary Winchester’s death.

Seeing Dean again had gone better than you thought it would. It left you feeling light and downright cheerful when you left the firehouse this morning. Unfortunately, the great start to your morning only crumbled when you reached your office.

Now, even at the end of your day, finally back at home and in the familiarity of your kitchen, the tension headache was back.

“Dre, I’m tired. Can’t we do this another night?” you asked.

Your cell phone was balanced between your ear and your shoulder as you counted out your grandfather’s pills, and placed them in each “Monday through Sunday” box in the blue container.

“No, we absolutely cannot. Because today was horrific,” Andréa said. “For me, because my coworker decided to play hookie on the day our top account needed the mockups of their new website. Never mind that she hadn’t even started.”

Pause for an aggravated breath, through which you frowned in sympathy. She’d told you the entire story over lunch today.

“And for you, because Nick once again displayed why he’s a subhuman neanderthal, in spectacular fashion,” she added.

Your grimace deepened at the reminder.

Earlier today, just before a sales meeting you were set to lead, you’d turned away from the conference table to set up the projector. Nick was early for once, making it just him and you in the room.

He’d sat back in his chair and uttered a remark that set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“I’ll tell you what, babe. You sure know how to wear a skirt.”

Your back straightened, and slowly you turned. Your face was set in stone, save for a solitary raise of your brow.

“Excuse me?”

Nick’s smirk was lazy as he kicked his feet up on the table. His hand held a tumbler of whiskey. You noted the half empty carafe, which just yesterday had been full and untouched.

“Fucking fantastic legs,” he said, vaguely outlining your shape with his hand. “I applaud you. It’s all very…sexy secretary. Oooh! Sexcretary. Fucking brilliant.”

You gaped, trying to put a clamp on the furious spike in your blood.

“Are you drunk?” you asked incredulously.

He raised his fingers an inch or so apart, scrunching up his face and trying not to laugh.

“Actually nah, not at all,” he bluffed.

He let his hand fall back into his lap. You shook your head and set down your papers in order to cross your arms.

“Good. Then you’ll hear me clearly when I say, I’m filing a formal complaint with Billie in HR,” you said.

“Whaaat? Why?” he complained. You huffed incredulously.

“For your little comments, which are getting more and more heinous. Not to mention your excessive drinking during company hours.”

Nick pursed his lips. “Christ on a stick. Can’t you take a fucking compliment?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “What I refuse to take is any further sexual harassment. This isn’t the first incident I could disclose, but I’m damn sure you’ll want it to be the last.”

He kicked his feet off the table and slowly stood. You didn’t want to be afraid of this sloppy, frat boy drunken attitude, but a tendril of trepidation still laced down your spine as you took a step back.

“You could do that,” he nodded, tilting his head. “Or, I’ll give your Zimmerman account to Josh, along with your commission.”

You frowned, and shock made your entire body tense.

“You…you can’t do that!” you exclaimed. Your insides fairly shook with frustration tinged with anger. “I’ll sue you.”

“With what money?” Nick scoffed.

Your brows knitted together then. How the hell would he know anything about your finances?

The man noted your reaction with a nod.

“Yeah, I know all about grammy and gramps. Surgeries, funerals, treatments…” he said. He leaned against the table with one hand, and still he fairly loomed over you.

He wasn't as broad as someone like Dean, but he was tall and lean. His dirty blonde hair was swept to the side, his blue eyes bearing down on you.

“I am this company. If you don’t like it, you can get the fuck out, sweetheart,” he said.

His gaze lowered, roaming your glowering face.

“And good luck getting anywhere else without a reference from one of the biggest corporations in Lawrence, Kansas.”

You sighed. Yeah, you might’ve shed some frankly embarrassing tears in the women’s bathroom after that. You hadn’t even told Andréa the full story, which included the details of his comments, along with his threats.

You didn’t want her to worry. And maybe, more selfishly, you were embarrassed at having to deal with it at all.

Truth be told, you still didn’t know what the hell you were going to do. About Nick, or your job…but somehow, getting drunk at a bar seemed about the last thing you should be doing.

“I need a drink,” Andréa insisted. “Which means you definitely need a drink. And I know exactly where we’re going.”

After a long moment, you leaned your elbows on the kitchen counter and rubbed through the persistent ache in your forehead. Maybe, just this once, you deserved to forget about reality. Just for a little while.

“Fine. Where?” you asked.

“It’s this great bar Meg told me about. The Roadhouse.”

“Ah, the usual suspects,” Ellen drawled at the men who managed to find seats at her bar, next to the rest of their party. The Roadhouse was packed on a Friday night, but she always had room for these two.

Benny and Dean wore similar tired, but pleasant smiles as they greeted their esteemed barkeep.

“What’s it been, Ellen, a whole shift since I’ve seen your delightful face?” Dean said.

Ellen gave him a mocking smile as she poured him his favorite beer on tap. Dean grinned and clapped his younger brother on the shoulder as he sat down. He and Cas had been waiting for a little while.

…Well, maybe longer than a little.

“Hey, dude,” Dean said. Sam perked up from his second beer with pursed lips.

“You know we’ve been waiting on you for like an hour, right?” he said.

“Aw, don’t get your panties in a twist, Sammy,” Dean teased. He nodded his thanks at Ellen when she set his beer in front of him, and a glass of whiskey for Benny. “We had a last-minute call. Some guy just couldn’t wait to start his Happy Hour. Drove his car into the company fountain.”

Sam’s brows raised incredulously. He looked over at Benny for confirmation, and the other man gave a resigned nod.

“Apparently it set the ducks into a tizzy,” he said. “The guy’s fine. Probably gonna get slapped with a DUI.”

Dean smirked and raised a finger at both Sam and Cas. “Duck Guy’s your problem now.”

Cas shook his head and raised his beer to his lips.

“Not my department.”

“Mine either,” Sam scoffed. Both of them worked in homicide cases, just from the differing sides of law and order. In fact, they worked together more often than Dean and Cas did.

Dean looked over at his friend Cas for a moment. He looked like more of a hot mess than usual, with his tie half undone, and a scruffy half-beard covering his face.

“Geez, man. You look like shit,” Dean remarked. “You and Meg fighting again?”

“No,” Cas replied, his brows furrowing. “…Well, yes. But nothing more than her usual insanity. Something about the cat preferring to sleep next to me than to her.”

“Well, that’s not so bad,” Benny said. “My dog don’t like her either.”

“Maybe they can smell that she’s feral,” Dean quipped. Cas sent him a dry look at that.

“She threatened to move out,” he revealed. “Even packed a bag at 3:00 in the morning. I spent two hours unpacking what she was re-packing, all while we argued in our underwear, not sleeping.”

Sam and Dean shared bemused looks, while Benny shook his head into his whiskey.

“So how’d it end up?” Sam asked. Cas sighed and took another long sip of his beer.

“Like it always ends, Sam,” he said, his lips quirking. “With our neighbors calling the precinct to complain, and me, somehow ending up sleeping on the couch for a crime I didn’t commit. If she wants to blame someone, blame the goddamn cat.”

Dean chortled. He brought his beer to his lips, but couldn’t resist a light jab at his best friend first.

“Dude, I love her like a sister, but your girlfriend’s unhinged,” he said.

Cas could only nod. “Most are, I’ve come to find.”

Sam scoffed and shook his head. “Not mine.”

“Yeah, that’s because Eileen doesn’t have to see you more than two minutes at a time,” Dean teased. He and his brother still shared an apartment, and Sam’s job as an Assistant District Attorney wrought demanding hours.

Sam shot his brother a flat look.

“Oh, I’m not taking that from the serial playboy,” he said.

Dean’s brows knitted together.

“All right, calm down,” he said. “I’m not Hugh Hefner.”

“Mr. Hit and Run,” Cas added, a smirk gracing his features.

“Chief ‘No Daddy Issues,’” Benny tipped in, giving his annoyed, green-eyed friend a sly glance. “With a side helping of the Clap.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a line. He leveled a finger at Benny.

“That girl was clean, okay? False alarm,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward as he sipped his beer. Thank Christ for that one. “The rash was just carpet burn.”

Sam shook his head and turned to his brother more seriously.

“Bottom line: until you date a woman for more than two weeks—hell, two days at a time—you don’t get to comment on the happily committed,” he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his track record with relationships. As in, he didn’t really have a record…but it wasn’t for lack of trying. At least, not for the past few months.

Sam managed to break Dean out of his thoughts by clearing his throat, pushing his empty bottle across the counter.

“All right, speaking of. I gotta go,” he said.

“Aw, why? We just got here. Let me buy you another,” Dean offered.

Sam shot his brother another knowing look. Dean knew it well; it said, if he’d been here on time, they would’ve shared the first two drinks.

“I’m picking up Eileen,” Sam said, grabbing his blazer and fixing the collar when he put it on. “There’s this Latin club she wants to go to.”

Dean raised incredulous brows.

“My brother’s going salsa dancing?”

Sam sighed in exasperation, despite his smile. “Bye, Dean.”

He shot his other two friends a nod.

“See you guys.”

Cas and Benny both saw him off with a subtle raise of their drinks, while Dean just shook his head.

“All right, Samantha,” he called out. Sam didn’t bother to turn around as he raised up a choice finger behind him.

Dean snorted into his drink. “Very mature.”

Benny and Cas shared a wry look. They were relieved when Ellen’s daughter Jo came by, picking up the slack for her mom, who was serving a rowdy group of college kids at a nearby table.

“Hey, guys. Need another round?” Jo asked. She gave them all a familiar smile, but her eyes lingered on Dean. He gave her a more reserved smile back.

“Hey, Jo,” he nodded. “I uh…actually think I’m good right now.”

“Me too,” Cas said. He even stood up and grabbed his trenchcoat in similar fashion as Sam had. The two had paid for their beers before Benny and Dean even got there.

“Aw, not you too,” Dean groused.

“If I don’t make dinner, we run the risk of the apartment going up in flames,” Cas informed him. Dean could only assume he was talking about Meg. “Despite working with the Fire Department for ten years, the woman can’t manage to boil an egg without supervision.”

Jo raised a brow, but her smile was bemused as she turned to Benny. “Anything for you?”

“Nah, darlin’. I’m good,” he said. But sensing the unspoken request in her eyes when she glanced at Dean, Benny straightened and raised from his seat. “But I’ll be back. Need’a hit the head.”

Dean internally sighed as Benny left him alone at the bar. Or, well, relatively alone. Jo lingered in front of him to wash and dry out a few glasses. The air between them was stiff, and a little awkward.

Dean’s thoughts shifted back to his brother then; while he still couldn’t believe Eileen had wrangled his gangly Sasquatch of a brother into going dancing, Dean was happy for him. Truly and sincerely. Sam deserved having someone who softened him, made him break away from his endless cases and have some fun.

Dean could also admit, if only to himself, that he was maybe a little jealous. Sam had something good with his girl. Something real.

Dean had carpet burn.

“So, how’s studying going?” he asked Jo. He couldn’t stand awkward silences. “Still planning on giving your mom a heart attack when you get into the Police Academy?”

Jo’s blue eyes flicked up to his. She brushed a coil of blond hair behind her ear after she finished drying a glass, and a smile raised the corner of her lips.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I gave her something to yell about,” she quipped. “But since you asked…my exam is in three months.”

“Good,” Dean nodded. “You’ve got time. Study your ass off. Keep up the conditioning routine I gave you, and you’ll be set. Just don’t forget the strength training. Very important.”

“I got it,” she said, this time with a brighter smile. “Some old firefighter gave me some pointers.”

Dean tilted his beer at her accusingly.

“Hey, don’t pin that old shit on me yet. Benny’s got more mileage than I do…”

He considered her then, after briefly looking down at the counter.

“What?” she said.

He kept his lips tight. “Nothin’.”

“No, Dean. What?” Jo pressed. “You want to say something. Say it.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head.

“Ellen’s not the only one who’s gonna worry about you on the job, that’s all,” he said. Jo flickered at a rueful frown.

“That’s ironic,” she said. “I can handle myself, Dean. Something you so often seem to forget.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it,” he shot back. His hand tightened around his beer.

Jo’s face fell into irritation, mostly to cover up the hurt he saw buried deep behind her eyes. She gave him some relief by glancing away from him.

“And this is why we didn’t work out,” she muttered. Sighing through her nose, her eyes met his again. “You know what I hate, more than anything? People worrying.”

Dean carded his fingers through his hair, his brows knitting together in aggravation.

“Yeah, well, maybe they have good reason to,” he said. He could’ve predicted the way she tightened up. “And if I remember right, you did your fair share of hand-wringing the next time I responded to a fire on the job.”

He knew it was a low blow. But his point was made, and he fully expected the anger in Jo’s tight frown. They’d dated for a few weeks, mostly in secret.

That had been enough for Ellen to blow her top. Not because she had anything against Dean…just his job: at the very same firehouse her late husband had once served.

So Dean had backed off. He’d ultimately felt he had to end it. And clearly, Jo still resented him for it.

Slowly, however, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her finger tapped on her side of the bar counter.

“You think I don’t worry anymore just because we’re not together?” she asked him.

Dean didn’t have a good answer for her. So his gaze fell to his nearly empty beer.

But he was even more relieved when Benny finally got back from the bathroom, or wherever he’d fucked off to for the past few minutes.

He did seem to know that he was interrupting a rather tense moment. Seeing as neither Dean nor Jo wanted to break the silence, Benny supposed it fell on him.

He reclaimed his seat and raised a smile up at Jo.

“I think I’m ready for the next round,” he said, glancing at Dean’s soured mood. “Two whiskeys, please, Joanna.”

Jo treated Benny with a half-smile. He was the only one besides her mother who called her Joanna (and got away with it). After one last look at Dean, she reached over for the Jim Beam.

You met Andréa at the bar in your own car, just in case you needed to dip out early to check on Grandpa George. He was happy to see you going out.

“You’re pretty as a doll, sweetheart,” he’d said, patting your cheek after you kissed his goodbye.

The thought made you smile, even though you thought you were dressed casually in your dark wash jeans and blouse. When Andréa met you outside the bar, she nodded in approval.

“Good. I like the hint of sexy,” she said, plucking at the sweetheart neckline of your top. You rolled your eyes and tried to cover up the cleavage a little, but she batted at your hand.

“No, no. Leave your professionalism at work,” she said. “Tonight, you’re going to relax and have some fun.”

It was hard to think about loosening up when you were literally getting belittled and threatened at work…but you supposed she had a point. You always had to be put together. You had to be sharp, because this world wouldn’t hand you anything on a silver platter.

And not to mention, you couldn’t just think about yourself. You also had to provide and take care of your grandfather too. He was the only family you had left, and you were it for him too…

But you took in a slow, deep breath. Tonight, you could have a couple of drinks with your friend. You could just be yourself, with no responsibilities other than not getting too drunk to drive yourself home later.

So with a sigh, you smiled and linked your arm with Andréa as you headed inside the Roadhouse.

It looked kind of divey from the outside, a worn-looking brown building with a faded red sign. But inside it was all dark wood and leather barstools and rows of soft lighting overhead.

There were records displayed on the wall; Prince’s Purple Rain, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper, and David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, among others. Boston’s “More Than a Feeling” played on the wall speakers.

There were several tables, both high top and regular four-seaters, as well as a long bar that spanned the far wall, where rows and rows of liquor were showcased. You followed Andréa’s lead to the bar, where you took a seat at the far end and tried to feel like you belonged here. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d gone out to a place like this.

“This is nice,” she leaned over into your ear to say. “Next time my cousin should meet us here. She’s a handful, but I think you’d like her.”

You agreed with a smile. “If she’s anything like you, I think I’m well trained to handle your brand of insanity.”

Andréa leveled you with a playfully mocking look.

“Ah, you’ve got jokes tonight. Okay.” She waved over the blonde bartender.

“Hi, ladies,” she greeted. “I’m Jo. What’re we starting off with tonight?”

Before you could order for yourself, Andréa grabbed your arm and spoke over you.

“Do you have absinthe?” she asked.

Your eyes widened. “What?! I’m not drinking that—”

“Sure do,” Jo replied in amusement.

“Great,” said Andréa. You didn’t like her sly grin. “She’ll have an Aunt Roberta. I’ll have a vodka cranberry.”

“What the hell is an Aunt Roberta?” you asked.

Jo listed the ingredients on her fingers. “A nice molotov of brandy, vodka, gin, blackberry liqueur, and of course, absinthe.”

Jesus Christ. You shot Andréa a glare, even though you were trying to dim your smile.

“Are you trying to chill me out or fucking end me?” you asked.

Andréa smirked. “Whatever it takes.”

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded your agreement. Jo’s smile remained as she went to prepare your drinks. Meanwhile, your eyes wandered as you once again took in your surroundings.

Really is a cool place, you thought. And it was busy without being overbearingly crowded. There were even a few seats between you and the rest of the patrons at the bar. Your gaze drew a path onwards, eventually reaching the other end of the bar.

There you caught sight of red flannel over a black undershirt, familiar broad shoulders, and an even more familiar face. Your eyes widened a fraction as his met yours, gleaming with recognition…and interest.

That slow smile of his was familiar too. It made a lance of heat run down your spine. You gripped the counter, mostly to steady yourself as you let out a breath.

Lieutenant Winchester.

AN: *rubs hands together* It begins. 😏

Lol how'd you like Dean's little moment with the reader at the firehouse? Plus the introduction of the rest of our cast!

(And a possible serial killer on the loose?) Though sorry about Nick. He's a douchecanoe.

Next Time:

Anticipation and nerves coiled together in your lower belly. You turned to your friend, who was already sipping at her vodka cranberry.

“Dre, help me,” you pleaded.

Andréa discreetly followed the path of your gaze, and her brows raised. A smirk curved her lips.

“Oh, babe. You need to help yourself,” she replied.

“I haven’t done that in a while,” you admitted. Your dating life had been sorely lacking, between the demands of your job and taking care of things at home. “I’m gonna say something demented.”

Andréa huffed in amusement.

“So? That’s half the fun,” she said.

Keep Reading: PART 3

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

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distressedjellyfish · 11 months ago

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Things I think about with frequency

Amy March

How we deserved to see Amy and Laurie's wedding, and them falling in love, and just more of them

How Amy March is hated by many because LMA based the characters off her own sisters, and Amy was obviously written with some bias (as were all the sisters), which shines through and makes us feel similarly about Amy that "Jo" felt about her younger sister.

That line where Amy says "I've been second to Jo my whole life" hits A LOT harder when you realize that Louisa's (Jo) middle name is May, and her younger sister, who she based Amy off, is named May, after LMA's middle name.

I think that people see Amy as this vapid little bitch because she always knew she wanted to be a wife, and she knew she wanted to be rich. But what people fail to consider is that a lot of the time the youngest is the one that sees all the flaws in their family’s lives and feels responsible for taking care of them, even if its not expressly stated. Jo was a wild card. She was free to do as she wanted and nothing could stop her and God love Marmee for never trying. Meg was docile and almost polar opposite of Jo, and as the eldest sister she felt the same burden but lessened because yes she had typical Eldest Sister Syndrome where she had the need to take care of the family, but she also was the first, and therefore had no pre-set markers and expectations that she needed to meet or surpass. She wanted to marry and all that, but it didn't super matter about finances to her. Beth was unable to do "better" than her sisters "mistakes" flat out. And its not through any fault of her own, its just the way it was.

Speaking from experience, its always been clear to me that as the youngest of 3, I would have to do better. My half brother got a girl pregnant on his gap year when he was 18, so I was never allowed to take one, even though it would have probably helped in the long run. My half sister has always been mean to my parents, and won't let my dad see his only biological grandkid, which rips my dad apart, so of course I feel the pressure to have a child to give my dad a bio grandkid to dote on like he does with his non-bio grandkids, even though he's never outwardly expressed to anyone ever that he feels any disconnect from my niece because they aren't related, or that he wants me to have kids for any reason other than he wants them.

Anyways, my point is that Amy felt that pressure from a young age, hence always saying this or that about marrying rich. Add onto that when Aunt March tells her she's her family’s only hope of not being in the lower class/lower middle class for the rest of their lives. And just because that's the only time we see it, but that doesn't mean that there weren't other similar conversations had. Do you really think Aunt March never made her snide comments about the family and their status in front of Amy?

Amy's entire character revolves around this point, she's focused on being a proper lady, being delicate and pretty, in hopes of one day being able to bag someone rich, for her family.

Obviously, she falls into infatuation with Laurie when she meets him at the ripe age of 12??? She idolizes Jo, and Laurie is basically just the boy version (with some exceptions). He's also rich, young, handsome, and charming, and adores the family for who they are, including all their flaws. He's exactly what Amy had been saying she would marry, with the added bonus of him loving Jo the way she is, the exact opposite of Amy, proving that there are rich lovely men out there who will love you even if you aren't perfect, even if you falter. He's proof she can have the life she knows she needs to have for her family, and also still enjoy it and not be stressed all the time about being perfect.

Of course Laurie loves Jo first, for very similar reasons that Amy is infatuated with him. At 15, his whole life has been spent at dinner parties with girls the exact opposite of Jo, all proper and lovely and so so similar to one another, being told he'll marry one of them, everyone expecting him to be polished and well spoken and everything that no 15 year old boy wants to be. So then in comes this whirlwind girl who is completely different, a breath of fresh air that never wants to marry and can't ballroom dance for shit and laughs too loud, and shows him that life can be the Something Different he so desperately craves.

And of course, he ends up with Amy. He was Jo's best friend, so for 6 years all he knew of her was the way she was presented through Jo's eyes. A bratty little girl, who was the same as the other vapid girls he knew, that wasn't worth a thought. And he never paid her any mind because he spent 6 years thinking Jo loved him back, so why would he think of other girls? Then, at 21, he is essentially dumped by the love of his life, and travels abroad to find who he is without her. He meets Amy again, the girl who was always happy to see him. Of course he's going to spend time with her, she's familiar enough to feel like home, but different enough from Jo that it doesn't hurt. And there's the added validation of her liking him, which sometimes you need after your heart has been ripped apart. Plus, she's the only one he really knows in Paris. So they spend time together, and in that time he learns that she's not at all the way he's seen her over the last 6 years. Where he always saw someone not very bright, with a dim personality, that didn't stand up for anything or really rock the boat unless seriously provoked, who would do anything for him, he now finds a strong, funny, kind, beautiful girl, who is very intelligent and has a deep understanding of how cruel the world is (maybe ((definitely)) moreso than her sister) and knows how to manipulate said world in such a way that she can come out close to on top, who cares about her family enough to put everything else aside in order to become the person they need her to be in order to support them, who would still do anything for him but will absolutely call him on his shit and put him in his place when necessary. And how could he not love that?

She's not all that much like Jo, sure, but she is so much more. And she deserves so much more than people calling her his second choice.

Also I think that its criminal that most people don't see that obviously Jo loved her family but she loved herself more. Her sense of duty was to herself, and finding the place that would make her happy. She was also kind of a brat? Things didn't go her way? Editor is a dick? Boy critisizes her writing? Tantrum.

Whereas Amy loved her family more than herself. She was willing to put aside her dreams in order to support her family, and growing up was very rarely bitter about it. She decided, on her own, that her family was her number one priority, and that regardless of the fact that she could be happier doing other things, she wanted to do what she could to provide for her family. She knew how the world treated women, and she learned how to take that, and general criticism, on the chin.

Personally, I think that Amy is a way better character, and I'll die on this hill

Amy March

#jo march #amy march #beth march #meg march #louisa may alcott #little women #books #booklr #bookblr #classic literature #literature #movies #little women movie #little women 2019 #hot take #laurie laurence #amy x laurie #the march sisters #my roman empire

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littlewomenpodcast · 5 months ago

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Little Women Inspirations: Friedrich Schiller (With Hejar Sinem) Part 4

youtube

Niina: What you said about Schiller made me wonder if Schiller was the one who Friedrich was named after in Little Women, or maybe it was Friedrich De La Motte Foque? I have a feeling it might have been Schiller.

Sinem: Yeah, me too. Yes, that's of course my own theory, but like I said, I also think that besides Goethe, I think Schiller also may have had an impact on Louisa, because in The Robbers, I think it's called, in Schiller's first novel, there's a female character called Amalia, I don't know how to pronounce her name in English, but she is very sweet, very generous. She is like Beth, she is very kind and giving and generous, and she only wants the best for everyone. So I found some parallels between Schiller's work and Louisa's work.

Niina: That's really interesting. What was the name of that book?

Sinem: It was called The Robbers. It's his first novel, he wrote that one when he was 17.Suppose he was not allowed to write at that time, I forgot why he wasn't allowed, and I think it's funny that he made a story that is close to Louisa May Alcott’s Blood and Thunder stories, and the main character Karl is very much an archetype of the movement that was around in Germany at that time.

Niina: I was just saying that in Rose In Bloom, Mac reads Goethe, but I realized he doesn't read Goethe, he actually reads Henry David Thoreau. In Little Women, there's a moment in part one where John translates a poem from Schiller to Meg.

Sinem: Yes, that is very cute, and it's also very funny, because John also knows German, and it's also funny if you think about it, it's like the whole March family is very interested in German culture. I think Meg was also very eager to hear the translation a bit, and John was also like, Yeah, I'll help you translate it, or I can teach you with German, I think he said that, I'm not sure, but I think he said that, and it was also very sweet.

Niina: Yes, I have forgotten about that, I love it. It kind of goes along with my theory that Louisa May Alcott planned Jo's marriage years before she wrote Little Women, because it does feel like a natural thing to do, to introduce a German character to this family that is really obsessed about everything that comes from Germany.

Sinem: I have to say, the first thing that comes to my mind when I see people saying Louisa was forced to marry Jo off is, well, but what if she was forced? Why in the world would Louisa May Alcott write so many things about Jo’s and the March family’s love for Germany?

Niina: I think we can all agree that this really comes from that the quote that she wrote in her journal was about reuniting with her loved one in the afterlife, so Little Women is a wish fulfillment.

Sinem: Yes, that's true, when people read it, I think it's also kind of racist of them to state that he was shoveled into the novel, because, I mean, they know Friedrich is German, and it almost always feels like they dislike him, especially because he is German, even people today are like, meh, she should have stayed single or with Laurie, which, to be honest, I can't stand either. I could never stand the thought that Jo might have ended with Laurie or alone, especially after reading the chapters All Alone and Surprises, because in these two chapters, you can see how lonely Jo is, and then there are people who say she only married Friedrich because Friedrich was invented, because Louisa May Alcott was forced to marry him.

Niina: I think you are correct about the racism, because I have read so many Louisa May Alcott studies that are like, Jo should have married Laurie or Jo should have been alone. There usually is a racist undertone when they start to speak about Friedrich's character, and then they do not include these parts in Little Women, where Jo clearly loves everything that comes from Germany, or Louisa May Alcott’s adoration to Germany. In Rose in Bloom there is a Chinese character, and he marries an American girl.

Sinem: She made him marry an American because it shows how inclusive she is and while I know that many people are like, well, yes, but Louisa May Alcott had something against the Irish, while I can read a bit of it in their novels, we don't know what happened to her.

Niina: I think it was a common at the time to mock the Irish people, unfortunately. I spoke with someone who was working in the Orchard House, and they said that it was really more about the effect of the time period. I don't know. Yeah, Irish people don't really get a good reputation in Little Women, because when Amy's limes are thrown into the snow, they are the Irish girls who are picking on her.

Sinem: We don't know. But it's also kind of funny, because Hannah herself is Irish, and Hannah is portrayed in a good light, though. I agree with you. I think it is more like the effect of the time, because, I mean, if Louisa May Alcott included Chinese and Asian characters in one of her novels, had this person marry an American, and it was portrayed as a good thing, then why should she be completely against the Irish? Since Hannah was portrayed in such a good light.

Niina: I think it's the same with the Italians, because on one hand, we have Louisa May Alcott, who shows what she considered good qualities of Italians, and maybe the less good qualities, but there was lots of hate against Italians at the time period. So it's quite remarkable that Laurie is half Italian in the book, and Germans were also really disliked during this time period in America, in certain circles.

Sinem: I also think it's very important, the way Mr. Lawrence is actually portrayed. He's a very kind and giving and lovable person, but he has a flaw, in part one, we learn that his son married an Italian and he was against it. Mrs. March states that he never could like the lady, even though she was very kind and loving, and overall a very nice person, and Mr. Lawrence couldn't like her, even though she was very kind to him and all that stuff, simply because he represented, the culture or the society around that time.

Niina: If Mr. Lawrence was raised in an environment where there is lots of pre-consumption against Italians, then he would be part of that kind of generation that sort of automatically sees them as lower than he. It sucks, but that's the way a lot of people are, even still today.

Sinem: Yes, sadly, but I also have tosay, I really love how Louisa May Alcott made the interracial marriages in Little Women work so well. Whenever I read those passages between the couples, except for Meg and John, they are both American, they are still a lovely couple, though, but whenever I read them, I love the way Louisa May Alcott writes these couples, Amy and Laurie, and Jo and Friedrich, because it really gets lost in all of the adaptations. I think the only couple which gets marriage time, is the one between John and Meg, only because Meg is the first one to marry, I assume, but then, the movie-makers all like everything is about Jo and Laurie, and it doesn't feel right,

Niina: Because that's not the way things happen in the novels, and because Laurie is partially based on Laddie Wisniewski, and the more I have read about Louisa May Alcott’s relationship with Laddie Wisniewski, it more and more feels like a mother and son relationship.

Sinem: Little Women would not have been the masterpiece, as I call it, if Jo had ended up with Laurie, because first of all, Louisa May Alcott based all the characters around someone she loved, who she cared about, and it would not have been right for her to marry Jo and Laurie, because Laddie is one of the inspirations for Laurie, and she did not end up with Laddie and I don't think it will work, because I know it's only semi-autobiographical, but it would not have felt right, because in the proposal scene, which I rather call the harassing scene, in that one you see in the novel, of course, only, because why would the movie-makers do such a wonderful thing, they very much don't show that in the movies, Jo really, talks to Laurie, as if he was her child. She's like, you will meet an accomplished woman, you sensible good boy, and all that stuff.

That is really there, and the movie-makers just don't use it. Okay, the movie-makers, for me, are more likely to be after the money, because Little Women is such a beloved tale, but that's another thing.

Niina: I agree, and we will get into this chapter soon. Throughout this chapter, Jo refers to Laurie and Amy as children.

Sinem: Yes, that is also very cute and funny, and it also shows that Joehas always been much more mature than Laurie. I can't say whether she was more mature than Amy, after Amy grew up, but I think it shows that, while Jo is a free spirit and independent and, I will not say egoistic, but sometimes, she says, I only want to do things for myself. She cares very much about herself, and she also respects herself very much, and I love that she calls them children, because, first of all, it's cute, second of all, it shows that she is very much mature.

Niina: I think in part one of Little Women, Jo is more egoistic, but so is Amy, and so are Meg and Laurie, because they are teens, and when you are a teenager, your life pretty much centers around yourself.

Sinem: Yes, that's true. I also have to say, I really love how Jo evolves in the end, because many people are like, she was such a feminist in the first book, and then in Good Wives, or part two, as I call it, they are like she is so anti-feminist, and she's very man-loving, that's not the Jo we love blah blah blah, and then I'm like, I think the toxic masculinity of Jo shows even in chapter three, when she goes to Laurie, when he's sick, and she's like, why don't you invite somebody so you have company, he says, well, I don't know, the boys are too loud, etc., and then she's like, well, then why don't you call a girl, because girls are quiet and they like to play nurse.

Niina: I see what you mean.

Sinem: I get why people would fall for the idea that Jo is a feminist in the first part, but that is not the case, she loves men very much, she idealizes them, and she thinks it's a shame to be a woman, and that is the complete opposite of what feminism is about. I think it's very important that we study it, and later parts, when, for example, Laurie, her sister, and all of Beth’s deatH and twins birth, Jo grows to be a feminist, because she accepts that having feminine empathy, feminine kind of interests, isn't a bad thing, it's more a bad thing to be everything female is bad, and everything male is wonderful.

For Beth fans @fandomsarefamily1966

@princesssarisa

#little women #Friedrich Schiller #Germany #Goethe #Friedrich Bhaer #Jo March #Little Women Podcast #Amy x Laurie #Amy March #Jo x Friedrich #Meg March #John Brooke #Youtube

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