[ Classy, right? Sam got it worse today, so he's in the motel room sleeping it off and Dean's not gonna wake him up. He could stand to do the same, but he likes this idea better. ]
She sent a thumbs up emoji in response, and focused on driving, pulling into the specified parking lot about twenty minutes later. She'd left one of her agency's own safehouses just a few hours ago, so she didn't have to worry about a shower or clean clothes or dirty weaponry. Between contracts just now, she could dispense with the bodysuits and be comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt, nothing fancy or technical required.
Natasha killed the engine of her own car a few spaces away from the Impala, got out and pocketed her keys. She didn't approach right away, but rather stepped around and leaned against her front fender, hands propped on the still-warm hood, and waited.
The lot was empty save for the two Chevrolets, sported a buzzing, dim nightlight, and thankfully traffic was scarce at this time of night. As far as meeting places went, this one wasn't bad at all. Creepy, maybe, but both of them had seen much, much worse.
Dean wasn't kidding about it being a hell of a day. He's had a chance to change clothes and shower, but he's still got a half dozen cuts and even more bruises thanks to being thrown against a couple of very unforgiving walls by a very sharp-clawed werewolf. Nothing deep enough to require stitches, but a few small pieces of tape have been strategically placed to keep those scratches from bleeding all over everything. As far as a rough day on the job, this wouldn't break any records, though he'll still feel this one for a while.
He pries himself out of the front seat when he spots a familiar set of headlights pull into the parking lot, still holding onto a beer bottle. Sure he was technically in the car and drinking, but he wasn't driving anywhere. Not when Sam's inside the hotel room, more banged up than he is, and apparently trying to sleep it all off. Tomorrow they should head back to the bunker, but no one's in the mood for a road trip tonight.
Especially not now that he's got company.
"You're a sight for sore eyes."
Sore everything, actually, and his wry grin says as much.
Seeing the testament to Dean's really bad day, Natasha lifted an eyebrow and tsked in sympathy. "Sore eyes and everything else," she agreed, echoing his sentiment. "You look like you lost a fight with a meat grinder, Winchester." Which...probably wasn't too far from the truth, now that she could look him over a little more closely.
Natasha stepped around her car and approached the Impala, leaning a hip on that fender, perusing Dean's face with a judging but soft eye. "You sure about this?" She reached for his beer and took a long swig herself before handing it back. "It might be a better idea to just get some sleep, Dean. Not that I'm not willing," she amended with a soft little laugh, "but I'd hate to make things worse."
Yet her fingernails ghosted up the inside of his forearm as she spoke, easing a little closer. She cared so much about him, it hurt to see him hurt, but that was the life they lived, the work they did. "Tell me what I can do for you, malyutka."
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maskirovka) wrote2018-04-08 02:44 pm
no subject
You, me, the backseat of my car?
[ Classy, right? Sam got it worse today, so he's in the motel room sleeping it off and Dean's not gonna wake him up. He could stand to do the same, but he likes this idea better. ]
no subject
And how about it, I'm only 20 miles from your current location.
[ Isn't lowjack GPS a wonderful thing? ]
Give me half an hour, handsome.
no subject
I'll be waitin
And hey. thanks.
[ He definitely doesn't deserve this whole thing he has with her. ]
no subject
Natasha killed the engine of her own car a few spaces away from the Impala, got out and pocketed her keys. She didn't approach right away, but rather stepped around and leaned against her front fender, hands propped on the still-warm hood, and waited.
The lot was empty save for the two Chevrolets, sported a buzzing, dim nightlight, and thankfully traffic was scarce at this time of night. As far as meeting places went, this one wasn't bad at all. Creepy, maybe, but both of them had seen much, much worse.
no subject
He pries himself out of the front seat when he spots a familiar set of headlights pull into the parking lot, still holding onto a beer bottle. Sure he was technically in the car and drinking, but he wasn't driving anywhere. Not when Sam's inside the hotel room, more banged up than he is, and apparently trying to sleep it all off. Tomorrow they should head back to the bunker, but no one's in the mood for a road trip tonight.
Especially not now that he's got company.
"You're a sight for sore eyes."
Sore everything, actually, and his wry grin says as much.
no subject
Natasha stepped around her car and approached the Impala, leaning a hip on that fender, perusing Dean's face with a judging but soft eye. "You sure about this?" She reached for his beer and took a long swig herself before handing it back. "It might be a better idea to just get some sleep, Dean. Not that I'm not willing," she amended with a soft little laugh, "but I'd hate to make things worse."
Yet her fingernails ghosted up the inside of his forearm as she spoke, easing a little closer. She cared so much about him, it hurt to see him hurt, but that was the life they lived, the work they did. "Tell me what I can do for you, malyutka."