Emily (iluvroadrunner6) wrote,

Dean/Hadley - Self-Destructive Types

Fandom: Supernatural/House MD
Title: Self-Destructive Types
Author: iluvroadrunner6
Rating: PG-13 / FRT
Characters: Dean Winchester/Remy Hadley, mentions of Foreman/Hadley
fic_variations Prompt: money (#1)
Content Warning: Only definitive spoilers for season 5 of House. Goes AU after 421: When the Levee Breaks.
Summary: For once she wanted to learn how to deliver an apology that actually sounded genuine, but she had a feeling that that was just a side effect of who she was. Too many times delivering it for people she didn’t know, and was never going to see again.
Author’s Notes: For the record, because I feel I should say it, I don’t hate Foreman/Thirteen. I kind of adore it, actually. So this isn’t meant to be read as anti-them in any way, it just kind of—happened.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by Eric Kripke and the CW, House is owned by David Shore and FOX. I’m just playing. Anything that you don’t recognize is mine, and should not be borrowed without my permission.

She had been personally requested.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that. She wasn’t all that well known a doctor, which means that it was someone she knew. But she couldn’t think of anyone who was uncomfortable enough around doctors to ask for her specifically, just because they knew her. She was walking in blind, and she didn’t like that feeling, but she was willing to work with it for the time being. It was just a matter of being professional and doing her job. That was all.

The door opened and when she saw who was on the other side, she almost froze. Not because of who it was, but because of how he looked. He looked, quite frankly, like hell. But she wasn’t going to make things uncomfortable for him. It was the first time she’d seen Dean in a really long time, and to be perfectly honest, she was happy to see him.

“Dean Winchester,” she said with a slow smile as she made her way into the room, closing the door behind her. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

The slightest ghost of a smile crossed his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Hadley wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or something else, but she pretended she didn’t notice, and just waited for him to speak. “That’s very kind of you, sweetheart, but I know I look like hell warmed over.”

She placed the file down on the desk next to the exam table before starting to look him over. “Not as bad as you think. I think your genes prevent you from ever looking like total crap.” She placed one hand gently on the side of his face, tilting his head up so that she could see him. “Will I get a straight answer if I asked what happened?”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Dean admitted before looking down at his hands, one of which was rubbing an arm, hanging limp off his shoulder. “I dislocated my shoulder, and I need to be stitched up in a few places. Normally I have someone to help, but—”

“It’s okay,” she said gently, before moving over to brace his shoulder. It took some finagling before it was popped back into place and put in a sling, and she started working on the deep cuts that he’d pointed out that needed stitches. She worked in silence for a while, but eventually she had to start talking. There were too many things she needed to know, and it had been far too long since she’d seen him. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, glancing over his shoulder at her as she stitched up a gash on his back. “Yeah, it has. How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good,” she nodded. “Got a good job, good friends—” Got diagnosed with a life-shortening disease, best friend committed suicide, boss lost his mind. “—I’m even seeing someone.”

Dean stilled slightly, and suddenly she wondered why she even bothered to open her mouth. A few minutes later, however, the tension was gone and he flashed her one of those smiles that on anyone else would mean smooth sailing, but she knew him better than that. She didn’t know him at all, really, in the grand scheme of things, but she knew at least that much.

“Good for you,” he nodded. “Good for you.”

She nodded for a moment, before she finished dressing the last of the wounds, and he was putting his shirt back on. She handed him the sling, flashing him a look before he could protest. “It’ll do wonders for your shoulder. I promise.” She paused and helped him put it back on again, before placing a hand on his arm gently. “Where are you staying?”

“Figured I’d find a motel and crash for the night before heading out again.”

“You can’t drive with that arm, Dean.”

“Wanna bet?” he teased, giving her a lopsided grin that was a bit more like himself, and she rolled her eyes before reaching into her pocket. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m walking distance,” she said, pulling out her key ring and sliding off her house key. “Go stay at my place.”


“I want to make sure you don’t do any more damage to that arm, and it’s not like you have the money to spend on a motel room anyway.” She pressed the key into his palm before continuing. “Besides, my couch is more comfortable than those beds, and you know it.”

Dean looked down at her hand on his, before squeezing her hand slightly. “Think she’ll be safe in the parking lot for the night?”

She actually laughed at that, before nodding. “Yes, I think your beloved Impala will be just fine.”

He gave her another grin, before letting her hand go, and closing his fingers around the key. “Thanks, Remy.”

“Anytime,” she said with a small smile, before holding the door to the exam room open for him. “It’s what I’m here for.”


They had met in Atlantic City. She was at a bachelorette party for a friend, and he was trying to blow his way through twenty grand. She had no idea why a man who was telling her that he lived in his car most of the time was trying to blow that much money at the craps table, but when she asked he said something about having less than a year to live so he wasn’t going to need it. That got her attention, being a doctor and all, but he wouldn’t answer any of her questions about it, and she was starting to get too drunk to care. He liked that she was bisexual, she liked that the first thought he verbalized wasn’t his desire for a threesome with two women. Somehow she wound up in bed—or at least, on the couch—with him by the end of the night, and things only seemed to get better from there.

They weren’t a couple. They weren’t even really anything romantic. They were friends, with a side of sex on occasion. In fact, it was almost somewhat of a fantasy. Whenever he swung into town, she didn’t have to be the girl who may or may not have a debilitating disease, and he wasn’t whoever he was. In fact, she didn’t even know who he was, and while on some level she knew that that should have been terrifying, but she wasn’t. If anything she felt safer, because there were no expectations. She just had to be herself, or whoever she wanted to be when she was with Dean, and that was even more secure than Eric could ever make her feel. It didn’t make sense, and she didn’t understand it, but it was how she felt, and she wasn’t about to deny herself that.

Then again, she was the self-destructive type. She was starting to figure that most of her reactions wouldn’t make sense.

She didn’t exactly lie to Eric when she blew him off for their plans that evening. She said a friend had just shows up from out of town, and was only in town for the night. It was pretty much the truth, she just happened to leave out the fact that she and Dean tended to sleep together on occasion. As far as she was concerned, that really wasn’t any of Eric’s business, and she wasn’t planning on crossing any lines. She was just spending time with an old friend, and that was what mattered.

She picked up a set of double cheeseburgers on the way home with a side order of pie, and by the time she got in the door to her apartment, Dean had already set himself up on the couch and was flipping through the channels. To be honest, she was surprised that he hadn’t found a way to slip the key back to her and disappear, but maybe she had underestimated how much he needed someone there right then.

“Brought dinner,” she said loudly enough that she didn’t spook him. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Not bad,” he said, glancing back at her with a bit of a grin, reaching for the bag. “Hurts a lot less.”

“Good.” She handed over the bag before heading for the kitchen. “Wanna beer?”


A few hours later, they were still settled into the couch, a couple of empty beer bottles on the table in front of them, along with the empty wrappers from the cheeseburgers and pie. She closed her eyes as she curled into his good shoulder, her body feeling a little tired and lazy from the beer and good company. This was nice. It was nice and comfortable, but she needed him to talk to her, because he needed to. If he didn’t talk, she couldn’t help him, and that was what she wanted more than anything else.

“Gonna tell me why you’re here still, Dean?” she asked softly, looking up at him over her shoulder. Dean glanced back at her with a hesitant look, before shrugging his shoulder slightly.

“Can’t want to run into an old friend?”

“No, you can,” she said, pushing herself up a little more so that she was looking directly at him. “But you didn’t fight me when I suggested you stay at my place, you didn’t agree with me then sneak away to avoid a fight, and you’re even following doctor’s orders.”

“So you think something’s wrong because I’m actually listening to your medical advice?”


He chuckled slightly, before shaking his head. “You are a hard woman to please, Remy.”

“No, I just know you,” she sighed. “I’m not asking you to spill your deep dark secrets, but I do want to know if you’re okay.”

Dean’s eyes dropped down to his hands and he didn’t respond. Heartbreak was coming off him in waves, and all Remy wanted to do was fix it. She wanted to know why he was suddenly so damned lonely, why spending time with her seemed to be lifting a weight that had been sitting on his shoulders, why she seemed to be the only one he could go to right now. Then, suddenly, her mind flashed back to someone else, the other person who was in his life more consistently than his car was.

“Dean, where’s your brother?”

She’d never officially met Sam in any capacity, but there was something wrong with the way this felt. Dean continued to be quiet, and when he actually spoke again, it was barely more than a whisper.

“He left.”

“I’m sorry.” She meant it, but the words sounded wooden and empty, just as they always did. For once she wanted to learn how to deliver an apology that actually sounded genuine, but she had a feeling that that was just a side effect of who she was. Too many times delivering it for people she didn’t know, and was never going to see again. She wanted it to sound real for him, though, and she didn’t know how to make it work.

“Not your fault,” he said, before turning back to her with a shrug and a smartass smirk. “Just should have seen it coming. Not like it should bother me or anything, I mean—people have been leavin’ me my whole life. If no one else seems to think I’m worth keeping around, why should my brother be any different?”

“That’s not true.” She was hearing echoes of what he was saying in someone else, all the things Kutner never said but should have, signals he should have given her but he didn’t. She was suddenly desperate to prove to him that he was needed, and not for anything he could do, but just for who he was. She couldn’t lose another friend to the same abyss. Not twice in the same year. “There are people that care about you. I care about you.”

He shook his head slightly. “I just hold people back. Dead weight. Cas should have just left me where I was.”

She didn’t know who this Cas person was, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing his shirt when he tried to get up and get away from her. He turned back to face her, confusion on his face, and before she even realized what she was doing, she was leaning in to kiss him. She could taste the beer and grease mixed with the sugary sweet tang of the syrup from the pie, but there was also a chilling sense of desperation, a need for someone to just touch him, and acknowledge the fact that he was there and they needed him to be.

That was probably the reason why he waited until she broke the kiss, trying to get the sling off over his head to ask the question he probably should have asked her ten minutes ago. She was in his lap at this point, tossing the sling to the side and going for her shirt next, and he stopped her, catching her wrist before she could get the shirt too far off.

“Aren’t you seeing someone?”

“It’s not that serious.” Whether or not he knew if she was lying or not, she didn’t know, but either he didn’t, or he did and didn’t care. She wasn’t going to complain either way, just let him strip them both of their shirts before flipping them over so that he was on top of her, giving her something that Eric either refused to or never could. Dean was willing to offer the comfort that Eric wouldn’t, and she was at the point where she would take what she could get.

Dean dropped down on top of her, curling in closer to her and breathing heavily against her shoulder. There was silence for a moment as they both came down, before he pushed himself up slightly, giving her a cocky smirk.

“If I fucked up my shoulder again, it’s all your fault.”

Hadley laughed a bit at that, before shaking her head. “I’ll make sure your doctor takes that under advisement.”

“Good.” After a moment, the smirk faded, before he looked down again, his thumb brushing lightly at the skin of her waist. “Do you mind if I—”

“Stay,” she finished, before starting to push herself up slightly. “But bedroom. I don’t think we’re both gonna fit on this couch.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, reaching for some of his clothes and starting to get dressed a bit, as she did the same. There was a long silence, before he looked over at her again. “Hey, Remy?”

“Yeah?” she asked, pulling her shirt over her head as she started to get up and clean up the mess they had left on her coffee table. Dean just pushed himself up and leaned in to kiss her again, a bit gentler than he had before.


She gave him a small smile, before nudging him towards the door. “Go get some rest.”

She watched him walk away from her, and she finished gathering the beer bottles, and trash and heading into the kitchen, trying to get her head back on straight again. She knew that this had just taken her five steps back from her two steps forward toward stability. She knew in the back of her mind that the best idea would probably be to find some way for Dean to leave before she dug herself any deeper into her hole. The respectable thing would probably be to call Eric and end things. She knew she couldn’t have things both ways, not matter how easy it would be for Dean to just disappear and Eric never knowing. However, she’d rather five steps back not be ten. It was the right, stable thing to do.

She finished tossing the trash and started to make her way back to the bedroom, and stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Dean sprawled out in her bed. He wasn’t quite asleep yet, but it was just enough that he was more relaxed than she’d seen him all evening. She waited there for a moment, just watching him, and knew that she really didn’t have the resolve to tell him to go. At least she didn’t have problems with being single.

Besides, she’d never exactly been the stable type anyway.

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