Title: A Moment of Well Thought Out Stupidity
Rating: PG-13 // FRT
Characters: Dean Winchester/Elle Bishop, Castiel, Sylar
15_song_titles Prompt: King of Pain
tamingthemuse Prompt: Blood, sweat and hysterics
Content Warning: Spoilers through 522: Swan Song (SPN), and 311: The Eclipse Part 2 (Heroes).
Summary: Dean Winchester wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought things through.
Author’s Note: I fiddled with the timelines a bit, putting the end of Season five for Supernatural in the middle of Season 3 for Heroes. Since the show never really had a definite timeline, I figured that would work? Also, this is separate from the Dean/Elle series I started to write before. I need a bit of a fresh start, and I want to finish that table.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Heroes or Supernatural. They belong to Kring and Kripke. I’m just borrowing and will put everything back where I found it.
Dean Winchester wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought things through.
That was usually Sam’s job. Sam was the one who double-checked him, and made sure that he wasn’t running in to do something infinitely stupid. But Sam wasn’t around anymore, and most of his other fail safes had better things to do than spend twenty-four seven with Dean, making sure that he didn’t do anything that would get himself killed. Castiel had Heaven and his family. Bobby had other jobs. Sam was dead. So when Dean saw a man on a beach, doing things that could never be explained as human to someone who—as far as he was concerned—hadn’t done anything wrong, he did what any half-insane grieving man would do. He called Castiel, made sure that he knew exactly where he was and what he was doing but hanging up before the angel could talk him out of it, then charged the guy who seemed to be trying to saw a girl’s head off with his mind.
“Hey! Jackass! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
The guy ignored him. Dean didn’t take that well.
So he shot him.
For the record, it was a shoulder hit, so even if the guy was human, it wouldn’t have killed him. Dean was just trying to get his attention and take the focus off the poor girl on the ground and on him, who was a bit more ready to die. When the guy turned around, however, there were no black eyes, no automatically saying his name, and no demonic signs of any kind. Which just meant that now he was a really pissed off super person. Who could magically eject bullets from his body and heal the skin as though the bullet was never there.
Man, this was going to suck.
“That was a bad idea.”
The guy was staring him down in a way most demons did—smug superiority mixed with total contempt. Dean hated that look, which really didn’t make him want to put his gun down. He shifted his stances, prepared to get tossed around in some way, shape or form, but continuing to stare him down just as darkly.
“I have a lot of them. They’re usually my favorite kind.”
He didn’t see the twitch of the man’s hand, and if he had he probably wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it, but soon he was flying backwards, towards the rocks and hitting them with a groan. The gun was dislodged from his hand, landing in the sand next to him, but he was too dazed to think to reach for it again. Not that he was going anywhere either—guy had him pinned down pretty well. It was almost enough to make him rethink the whole demon angle, but there were still no black eyes, still no sign that they recognized him as Winchester. Which was just weird.
“I think you might find you’ll actually regret this one.” The man stepped over him, raising a hand and starting to draw it across his forehead. The blood was clouding his vision before the pain actually hit him, almost as though someone was taking a chainsaw to his forehead. He tried his best to keep quiet about it, and not give the man anything, but soon he couldn’t help the scream of pain that bubbled up from his lungs. The guy had just gotten past his right eye when there was a shout from the other end of the beach.
“Sylar! Leave him alone.”
“Would you rather I finished killing you instead?” he asked, pausing for a moment, but it was almost as though he was holding the saw in place against Dean’s skull, which made the pain worse in a way. “Because that can be arranged.”
“He was just trying to help.”
“As I said—it was a stupid move. Someone should teach him not to make those.” ‘Sylar’ had his eyes back on him again, and gave a small grin that could have almost been amusement. “It’s not as though he can stop me.”
Dean stared back at him for a moment, eyes not giving an inch, before he heard a soft flutter of wings and couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face. “I can’t, but he can.” Sylar frowned, a look of confusion crossing his face, before a voice spoke up behind him.
“He means me.” Sylar spun around to face Castiel with wide eyes, and before the man could react, Castiel placed two fingers to his forehead, causing the man to drop to the sand asleep. As soon as he was out cold, the angel looked over at Dean with a heavy sigh. “You can’t keep doing this, Dean.”
His head was throbbing, but he was trying to struggle to his feet anyway, and didn’t stop until there was the touch of Castiel’s fingers to the opposite side of his face to the wound, and suddenly the blood cleared from his eyes and the pain was more of a phantom tingle from what it used to be. Dean didn’t respond to what Castiel said, just glanced over at the girl who was still bleeding from the slice in her head, and looking a little more worse for the wear.
“Help her too.”
Castiel made his way over, and the blond made a small scramble backwards. “Don’t touch me.”
“I am not here to hurt you,” Castiel replied, and the girl’s hand came up, blue sparks lighting up around the edges of her fingers. Dean’s eyes widened, but Castiel didn’t seem to be all that scared of her.
“What did you do to him?”
“I just put him to sleep,” the angel replied, crouching down in front of her so that he was meeting her eyes. “And I can heal your wounds, if you’ll let me.”
She stared at him for a moment, almost as though she was trying to gauge whether or not he was telling the truth, before glancing over at Dean. She was scared, Dean could tell, but he also knew that she could see the blood on his shirt from a cut on his head that wasn’t even going to leave a scar. She turned back to Castiel at that, and he knew that the angel was giving her his best sympathetic puppy face. If he didn’t have his own shit to deal with, Dean knew that Castiel might actually make an almost adequate Sam replacement when talking to witnesses. After a moment, the girl slowly lowered her hand and let Castiel touch the side of her head, and a minute later the cut and blood was gone, and she was good as new. Once that was done, he got up and looked back over at Dean with a sigh.
“We need to talk.”
“Later,” Dean replied quickly. “I’ll be at the motel.”
Castiel nodded quietly before disappearing from view. The girl was still on the ground, trying to process everything, and Dean swiped a hand over his face, catching sweat and just letting him close his eyes for a moment, before looking over and extending a hand to her.
“C’mon. I’ll give you a ride home.”
Elle looked hesitant for a moment, but took the hand up as she spoke. “Don’t really have one. It was pretty much—” She looked pretty broken up about the guy asleep in the sand and Dean knew that there was more to the story, but he wasn’t going to push. Instead he just let her hand go and made another offer.
“Then I can take you to the motel, get you something to wear?” Because he’s stupid, not dead. He noticed her relative state of undress. “Maybe there’s someone you can call?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he nodded, starting to lead the way back towards the Impala, before turning to face her again. “I’m Dean, by the way.”
“Elle,” she nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, hands sliding into his pockets as he walked. “You too.”