#ugh pray that i manage to fix it with them Hot Irons

[ash-and-starlight]

yet another traumatic experience! at the hair salon

[wafflewarriors]

Imagine Getting Caught in an Ambush with Dean Winchester

It was really only meant to be a one night stand.

You were the town flirt, twirling your pretty hair and flaunting your curves which were exaggerated by your revealing outfits. With one smile, you had this guy twirled around your fingers before he even knew it. This was your happy place. This is what you were comfortable with.

You had to admit, he was stunning. Freckles, vibrant green eyes, and a million dollar smile. Not to mention his abs. And those shoulders.

You got your usual fix of hot action, but it stopped abruptly when you both heard a noise from outside. You shrugged it off quickly, but he didn't overlook it as easily.

He sat up and you stared at him, shocked as he re-buttoned himself and reached for his duffel bag.

"Hey! What are you—"

He pulled out a gun.

You stared at him in horror. What was he planning on doing with that?

"It's not for you, sweetheart."

And while he was cute, you weren't stupid. "Okay, I don't know what kind of nutjob you are, but I am so out of here!"

"Stay where you are."

In normal circumstances, you would have up and left. You didn't need a man telling you what to do. But this man had a gun, so... you know, that was important.

He opened his mouth to explain, but then the windows rattled violently and the roof echoed like it was raining rocks outside.

You flinched. “What is going on?!”

Then that manly—kind of hot—glare came over his face as he eyed the windows.

“Sweetheart, I’m going to need you to get down.”

You looked at him incredulously, but then the door flew open and multiple figures burst in. You were under the bed like a rocket.

You shivered. It was dusty, the floorboards were cold on your skin, and it was just uncomfortable. You could feel your uneven breath fan onto the mattress and then back onto your face. Not to mention whatever the hell was going on outside.

Dean was grunting and loud, knocking noises erupted in the smaller motel room. A shot rang out, and you then covered your ringing ears. Gunshots had never been that loud in movies.

Finally then, you heard skin on skin, a good punch, and the room was quiet, other than a few shuffles. You held your breath.

"Dean Winchester," a voice drawled. "I'll admit, he's one tough bugger."

Oh no no. No. Dean hadn't won. And since Dean hadn't won, you couldn't come out. Because then they would have you too.

"Sure is," another voice replied.

There was a creak of the bed, and some movement.

"Think he'll threaten us?"

"Almost definitely."

Someone else joined in. "I'll bet $50 he'll use the word 'kill' in the first sentence he says."

"What if he says, like, I don't know, 'you're all going to die' or something?"

They scoffed. "That counts."

"No, it doesn't."

"Fine. But I'm still going with it."

"That's a risky bet."

"Not if it's Dean Winchester."

You were sure to take long, deep, quiet breaths. You had to stay calm. You had to stay calm.

As much as people thought you were fearless, you fought anxiety daily. This, this was another battle. You didn't have any choice but to suck it up and force yourself to breathe. Force yourself to think rationally. All while your heart was running a mile and you were struggling to keep up.

"Hey, you got more rope?"

You shuddered minutely. They were tying him up.

"Yeah, here."

More movement, on the bed, and you prayed. Prayed to every god you knew that this wasn't some kinky thing. Mostly because you were under the bed. They weren't going to... right? What if they... ugh, you just couldn't think about it.

Fortunately, though, at least you thought it was fortunate, Dean began to stir.

He rasped, "I'm going to kill you suckers."

A couple people snickered, another groaned.

"We thought so," someone said sarcastically. "Now, we want to know where the demon tablet is."

Dean began to laugh. Okay, at least you both knew they were psychos. Like, demon tablet?

"I don't have the demon tablet," Dean told them.

You spoke too soon. Everyone here was insane. How did you end up here? Was everyone in this room high? You thought so. Including yourself.

"We know you have it, Dean Winchester. We know you've been trying to decipher it."

Dean scoffed. "You think I could decode that thing? I'm not a prophet, believe it or not."

Your legs were really starting to cramp from being so curled up. And you didn't want to risk adjusting for fear of them hearing you.

"I told you," one of the voices mumbled, supposedly to the others.

"Bunch of eight year olds," Dean muttered, "You sure you're actually demons?"

They seemed to sober up after that. "Of course we are," one growled.

You could almost hear Dean's smile in his next words. "Hey, don't look at me. You're the ones playing the 'I told you so' game."

There was a jerk of the bed.

You flinched, inhaling sharply. Thankfully the bed covered up your gasp with loud creaking. Like the man had lunged at him.

"Again, eight year old," Dean said smugly.

You frowned. Why did your nose itch? Something tickled. You crinkled it, wiping at it silently, but the itch didn't go away. You felt a sneeze coming on.

Oh, shi—

You managed to hold most of it in, but the inhaling portion could not be stifled. You froze, completely still as you waited to see if they heard you.

A head peeked down and smiled wickedly at you.

"Look who we have here!"

You scrambled and curled into yourself, trying to stay out of reach, but one of them had grabbed you by your ankle. They yanked until you were out from under the bed and frantically trying to free yourself.

You heard Dean swear softly.

One of the men cackled and that's when you broke. You swung your other leg and kicked him in the face, pushing him back but not knocking him down. You brought your fist into one of their knees and they cried out.

"How..?" Dean breathed.

You had no chance to answer him. You swung your other fist into the other man's head, and managed to temporarily get their grimy hands off you. God, they smelled something awful. Was that rotten eggs?

You managed to grab Dean's gun from the nightstand, which the men had stupidly placed without thought. They were too confident in themselves. Too cocky.

Speaking of which, you cocked the gun.

They looked at you in terror.

"Shoot them," Dean urged you. "Don't hesitate. I mean it. Shoot them. They deserve that and more."

You hesitated and whispered, "Who could ever deserve death?"

"Demons could, kid. They've killed more people than you've probably met in your lifetime. And if you don't kill them, they are definitely going to kill you later."

The men didn't deny it. In fact, they seemed to agree.

You pulled the trigger. And you pulled it again. And again. And again. Until you were just shooting corpses. Until you couldn't see through your tears. They could have killed you.

Dean had finally broken through his bonds that he'd been tearing at for a good while after trying to keep still. He came over to stand beside you. "Let go of the gun," he said gently, slowly prying your fingers from the weapon. "Just let go."

You did.

Dean looked at you. "I think you're in shock. Hey, it's okay. You did the right thing. Really."

"They could've killed me."

"Yeah, but you fought back. You didn't let them. How'd you do that, by the way?"

You shook your head. "I dunno."

Something on your hand caught Dean's eye. He lifted it to inspect the ring on your hand, which was now bloody. "Iron," he murmured. "You're a genius. You could punch them right in the face. That is just genius." He looked down and began to laugh. "Where the hell'd you get iron toe boots?"

"I don't know, they used to be my dads."

"Your dad had pretty small feet."

Really? That's all you have to say? After we just got attacked by demons or whatever? Your head was starting to spin.

You rolled your eyes. "They're adjustable."

He looked at you strangely. "And the rings? Where'd you get those?"

"...my dad. He welded them himself. He's um... he's gone now."

"Sorry," he said solemnly. He nodded to himself, clearly deep in thought as he traced his finger over the pattern on your ring. "You ever know your dad was a hunter?"

"What?"

"Hunter symbols. They're everywhere on you. Ring, shoes... jacket, too. Necklace. I'd say he was trying to protect you the best that he could when he died. There's no way those could have fit him, adjustable or not."

"But...what? I don't even… how could I..."

"You mind if I take a look at those? We... uh, Sam and I... we could help you. Because whatever he was warding against, he was convinced they would come after you. From what I can tell, it's probably demons."

"I mean, yeah. I don't ever want them after me again." You shivered, recalling. "Is that it? You just want to help out?"

Dean shrugged. "They were also pretty cool and I want some. But anyway, let's just get out of here. These guys stink something awful."