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if dean had to die right this instant, he’d die a happy man, seeing last his most prized possession.

the impala roared to life as he pulled out of the parking lot of the motel he’d been staying at, and he thought that it resembled the roar of the king of the beasts, aggressive and noble.

sometimes dean thought of himself as a lion, proud, courageous and assertive. he sure felt like one when he was hunting, stalking his preys, circling them before ambushing, never leaving any survivors. never hunting in prides, he preferred to take care of his victim by himself, hardly ever accompanied by more than two other predators, but still leading the hunt. or maybe he’d nuzzle his nose into his prey’s neck and shoulders, leaving soft kisses at the exposed skin before whispering sweet words in their ears, words he rarely ever meant.

that second type of hunt was the one he preferred, the one he needed to take the edge off from the main ones, the ones that left deeper scars and marks on his body than the other.

rolling his window down, he sighed contently as one of his favourite albums started playing on the old stereo, running a hand through his messy hair, not having bothered to cut or properly comb it in weeks.

harvey, another hunter he’d met when he was still a young man, following his father and his orders anywhere on the passenger seat of the impala, had called that morning and informed him of a series of supernatural looking disappearances down a highway california, and dean was set on finding out what was causing it.

the ride, albeit filled with old rock playing in the background, was surprisingly silent. in the past years dean had grown close again to his brother, and he’d gotten used to sam reading some lore out loud, discussing their theories on what they could be about to face, but the passenger seat was now empty.

if dean was anything, it was a family man. he’d lost the count of the times he’d put sam’s life before his own without even thinking about it. it had become automatic, he had been doing it ever since sam was born and he had never learned to live without doing it.

without sam and bobby, dean felt incredibly alone, helpless.

he missed pretending to detest bobby’s cooking, sam’s terrible singing during long rides and stupidly healthy diet, the sharp tone bobby would use when picking up the phone or watching the game with them in bobby’s living room with a cold beer in his hand, feet propped up on the coffee table that was covered in old lore books, empty beer cans and bullet shells scattered everywhere around the house.

losing bobby was worse than losing his own father, even if he hated himself for even thinking that.

he could try and lie to himself, telling himself he was better off alone, acting like he preferred to lead a solitary life, a lone wolf. he could lie all he wanted, but the lonely nights weighted on his weary soul like the whole world on atlas’ shoulders.

deep down, he craved it, to love and feel loved. he could blame his mother for dying, or his father for preferring his brother their whole lives, when dean, ever the obliging soldier, hanged from each of his father’s words, while all sam did was challenge him.

ironically, it was as god preferred lucifer to michael, the rebel son to the devoted one. dean and sam really would’ve been the perfect vessels to fight each other, the true match the biblical brothers could’ve used to battle the other for one last time, if the winchesters hadn’t found their way out of that.

kansas was playing, and like every time, dean couldn’t help but think of his old house, his first and only one. the memories were blurry, singed by the same fire that had torn his family apart many years before. he remembered how he could smell the cherry pie baking in the oven while he was playing in the backyard with his father, his brother’s soft fusses as his mother would coo at him and sing to him to calm him down. he could almost see it in the darkness of the open road, he could almost touch his mother’s nightgown, but all his memories really were just like dust in the wind.

without even noticing, dean had been driving for hours, crossing state lines and he struggled to recognise in the dark the california highway he was on.

dean grabbed his phone from the passenger seat and dialed harvey's number before bringing the phone to his ear.

“this is harvey, currently i’m not available. leave a message and i’ll call you as soon as i can.” the recorded voice told dean, who groaned, tightening his grip on the wheel.

“harvey, man, it’s dean. listen, I’m in the middle of the desert, just off I-40. where was that place you told me about?”

all he could think about was crashing on a motel bed after chugging down half a bottle of scotch.

the motel led insignia looked almost like a mirage, and dean pulled inside the empty parking lot, the only other car there looked like it must’ve been parked there for at least ten years, judging from its conditions.

dean wearily got out of the car and grabbed his old duffle bag from the trunk before locking it and heading for the reception.

as he walked inside, he caught a whiff of old lady’s perfume, cigarettes and air freshener.

an old man, probably in his late sixties, sat behind the wooden desk, smoking as he flipped through the pages of a newspaper. the few hairs he had left were oily and the plaid shirt he was wearing was stained too.

“evening.” the man grinned up at dean, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. “welcome to the sunset dunes inn.”

“thanks.” dean muttered, dropping his bag at his feet. “a single. just for tonight.”

“that’ll be 95, son, unless you want a deluxe. it’s bigger and it has a beautiful desert view, the sunsets are to die fo-”

“i’ll take the basic one.” dean replied, grabbing his wallet and pulling out four twenty dollar bills.

the man looked at dean through his brows before he inhaled more smoke, placing in front of the hunter the guests register. “alright, i’ll need a signature here then.”

the hunter signed as steve gaines before reaching for his bag again.

“marge!” the man called, and a woman not younger than fifty five popped her head out of the back door. she was taller than the man dean thought to be her husband, but she shared his same slimy look. “key to room six.”

as marge, with a nod, went to fetch the key, the man looked back at dean.

“care to take a brochure?”

“i’m not staying for long.” dean replied, shaking his head.

the man furrowed his brows. “i understand. take one anyway, see for yourself our town.”

“is there a diner around here?” he finally gave in and grabbed the dusty brochure the man was handing him.

“just two miles to the left into town, hard to miss, it’s the only one.” marge suddenly chirped up, back with dean’s keys as she passed it to him.

“thanks…” He muttered before walking back outside, walking down to room six.

he looked again around the empty parking lot, studying the hot night as he tried to come up with an explanation as to why they’d placed him in room six instead of one, it surely wasn’t because they were busy.

he glanced down at the brochure, which seemed as old as the owners of the motel.

aurelia, it read, apparently located between the nevada border and palm springs, in the middle of the mojave desert.

founded in 1852 during the gold rush era, was born as a mining town, now a hidden oasis not many know. surrounded by red rock canyons, it is also known as the golden mirage, jewel of the desert, the town where the old west meets the 20th century…

“how freakin’ old is this thing…” dean muttered to himself.

as he looked at the passing doors for his, the flickering lights on the porch finally seemed to work, and dean caught a glimpse of a figure standing on a doorway.

“welcome to the sunset dunes inn.”

he turned and was met with your face.

he’d met many angels in the past few years, maybe too much for his liking and surely more than the average person, and could say that you were just as gracious as the angels he’d encountered. your face, the way your eyes shined in the dark and your lips wrapped around the cigarette you had just lit. this was his hell and heaven at the same time, the few feet of distance between the two of you was the only enemy he had in his mind.

“thanks.” he swallowed the lump in his throat. he was never nervous around women, stand alone pretty ones, but something about you felt completely different from any other woman dean had ever seen in his whole life.

“you’ll like it here,” you hummed, “it’s a really lovely town.”

“i’m not staying.” he found himself saying for a second time that night, only this time regretting it.

you raised both your eyebrows. “oh? just passing through?”

“you don’t get many tourists, do you?” dean pointed out, looking down at you.

“we’re in an isolated area,” you explained, careful to exhale the smoke away from his face, “we get occasional travellers like you, we don’t get that many new faces.”

you silently handed your cigarette to him and he inhaled a few drags before returning it to you. surprised by his own action, dean furrowed his brows. he wasn’t a smoker, had never been one to fall into deadly vices, apart from hunting and alcohol. he felt like he would’ve done anything that you asked him to do, even throw himself down a cliff, if there had been any around.

the soft breeze whispered in his ears, messing up his hair as he couldn’t find it in himself to stop looking at you. it sounded almost like an old song, a secretive whisper. the swish and whoosh could almost resemble words, voices carried from afar.

“you live here or something?”

you chuckled. “yes, my parents are the owners.”

“oh.”

how did slimy and grandma manage to pop out one like this? dean thought to himself.

“i just come here to visit, though. i moved to LA a few years ago.” you explained with a chuckle. “there wasn’t really much to do here after high school.”

before dean could answer, you pointed behind him. “that yours?”

dean nodded at the impala.

“sweet ride. it’s the nice kind of old, y’know?” you finished your cigarette, stomping it on the ground, and dean blinked, hanging from your every word.

“was my old man’s.”

“mine’s that one.” you pointed at car on the other side of the lot, beside the rusty one he’d first seen, and he could’ve sworn it wasn't there when he’d parked his.

“which room?” you hummed.

“six.”

“next door, neighbor.” you smiled, and dean glanced at the number on the door next to yours. Indeed six, big and brassed.

“so…” he was dying to keep the conversation going, “how’s the big life in los angeles treating you? You one of those brainless valley girls yet?”

you chuckled, rolling your eyes at him. “i’m still a small town girl, i don’t think i’ll ever get used to living in a big city.”

“i’m sure it can be fun,” he retorted, “you can meet more people than here.”

“that’s for sure. but i miss my friends from aurelia, you know? that’s why I visit as much as i do. the people are so different there…”

dean held back a yawn. he’d been on the road for the whole day, and could barely feel his legs any more. “do you have anything to drink? strong, possibly?”

you shook your head. “sorry, pop hasn’t kept alcohol around here since he married my mother in ‘69. he’s gone all catholic, won’t even eat meat on fridays and during lent.”

“must’ve been hell not having a liquor cabinet to steal from in high school.” dean chuckled, admiring the way your hair ever so gracefully framed your face. straight outta renaissance painting, he decided, just like a dream.

“if you want, i have some sodas.”

he shook his head, cursing himself for being so human, so tired. “i think i’ll go to sleep, thanks.”

“sure, goodnight.”

“night.” he replied before unlocking his door and getting in.

dean dropped his duffle at the end of the bed and kicked his boots off before cracking open the window looking around the room, cleaner than the motel accommodations he was used to.

with a tired groan, he lay down on the bed, not bothering to pull back the duvet.

he started brainstorming ideas, he still needed to be sharp for the case. what could be snatching people off the highway? a woman in white, perhaps a ghost, or even a crocotta… he’d ask you if there were any local legends in the area the following morning, even if he wanted to just knock on your door and spend the night with you.

as he tried to sleep, the wind would softly blow in the room, dancing with the curtains, whispering in his ears. he couldn’t tell if the long drive was getting the best of him and he was starting to hear voices, hallucinating, or if someone was actually talking outside, but he was too tired to care.

dean was used to nightmares, he’d wake up sweaty in the middle of the night at least three times a week, usually recurring nightmares from his time in hell, but wet dreams… that was new even for him. although he consumed more porn than the average person should, he’d rarely ever dreamt of women–the weight of his job heavy even on his psyche–and surely enough never women he’d just met, but you’d found your way into his mind, his dreams.

it all felt so real and lucid, dean couldn’t tell if it was really you undressing in front of him, but he couldn’t get out of it, not that he was complaining anyway, the way your soft curves looked in the feeble light from his bedside lamp made him crazy.

his forehead and palms were sweaty as he tried to reach for you.

“tut-tut…” you murmured as you slipped out of your jeans, “i want something first.”

dean pathetically nodded. “a-anything.”

“look up.”

as he was following your instructions, the first pale rays of the sunrise made him scrunch his eyes before they fluttered open.

he blinked a few times, his eyes met the mirror on the ceiling. he asked himself if it was some subliminal message his subconscious was sending him, maybe that he needed to get laid? he’d taken a girl back to his motel room just two nights before, it wasn’t that, it was something different. different, like you from any girl he’d ever set eyes on in his lifetime. he needed to have you in a consuming way, one that made him ache for you even though you were just next door.

next door.

he quickly sat up and tied his combat boots back on, immediately springing up and heading towards the door.

the early morning air was bitter, too cold, and dean had to admit to himself that the sunrise might’ve just been as beautiful as the sunset he’d experienced while on the road the previous evening, the cool purples and blues making it feel almost unreal.

he took a deep breath, nothing but fresh air and- cigarettes again.

“you’re up early.” you noticed.

he turned to face you, just as breathless as the night before.

“could say the same about you.”

“i have a reason, helping my parents with cleaning. what’s your excuse?” you hummed, inhaling smoke like you were immune to cancer.

“couldn’t sleep.” he admitted, almost shy to look at you, as if he had desecrated your body by dreaming about it. if he looked close enough he could catch glimpses of what was underneath the almost see through camise you apparently wore to sleep.

“so… you getting ready to leave?”

dean never hated hunting more than he did right that moment. “looks like it. i should get going…”

“oh… have breakfast with me, at least? before i won’t ever see you again?” you mused.

just as dean was about to get into your room with a lazy grin, his phone buzzed to life, and he noticed that the mirrors in your room were all covered by sheets.

it was harvey, peskily sending him message after message.

> you’re close

> got word that people are disappearing from this little town called aurelia, at least four people never checked out of this sunset inn motel or something.

> also checked in with rudy moser from FL, thinks it could be a siren lurking people in.

> me n rudy are a call away if you need backup, man.

dean stopped dead in his tracks.

“what?”

“gotta grab something first.” he muttered, quickly making his way to the Impala and opening the trunk. he rummaged through various weapons before finding the bronze dagger he was looking for. watching your motel door over the edge of the open trunk, where you were standing, he hissed and bit onto his bottom lip as he used the blade to cut through the skin of his palm.

if you were as dangerous as you were beautiful, dean didn’t want to risk it. he knew that he was already under your spell.

dean hid the dagger in the waistband of his jeans before shutting the truck close and walking back to you, putting a smile on his face.

“everything alright?” you asked.

if you were what dean thought you were, he had to be careful about what he thought about you. “yeah, just checking something.”

his lie tasted bitterly on his tongue, and you could almost sense it.

you opened the door wider to let him in, before dean abruptly shut it behind himself, looking at you with hooded eyes. he locked the door and took a step towards you.

“what are you?”

“i’m me-”

“bo, you’re not human, you’re a monster.” dean growled, grabbing his dagger.

“i- no-”

“cut the crap.” he barked, and he almost grew in size too, standing so tall a flash of fear shot in your eyes.

“what do you want me to say, then? that i’m just what you hunt? probably the whole reason why you’re here in california, dean? oh, yes, i know who you are. who doesn’t these days?”

“are you going to put up a fight or go down quietly?” he snarled, taking another step closer to you, holding his dagger tighter as you backed away. “is it you?”

“i don’t-”

“you just confessed, it’s useless to lie now!” he pushed you to your bed.

“do you want me to admit it? i know you’re looking for those missing people- why do you think you’re in room six? their rotting bodies are all in the other rooms, piling up!”

those were probably the voices that dean had been hearing, now finally understanding their whispers as an advice to run for his life. “god, baby…” he almost dropped his weapon. “breaking my freakin’ heart and we haven’t even slept together.”

“but i can’t stop, i’ve been doing so good in LA, nobody cares if a couple of people a month go missing, that’s normal there… i can’t stop, dean, can’t change who i am.” you whined so pathetically dean could almost believe you. “oh, dean, you have to believe me…”

“you’re a siren.” he finally muttered. “so pretty and you can’t even stand to look at yourself in a mirror…”

“dean…” you breathed as he lifted the dagger to your neck, starting to press the blade into your soft skin.

“i really wish there was another way…” dean breathed on your skin, he could smell how good your hair smelled, how beautiful you looked now that he was so close to you.

you weren’t violent, dean had understood that much, and you closed your eyes, accepting your cursed fate.

“no survivors behind…” he hissed to himself, still holding the bloody bronze dagger by your neck, before getting off of you and cleaning his blood off the blade on his jeans.

“wha- no!” you protested, stumbling to get up. “you’re supposed to kill me! i can’t- i can’t live like this anymore, with who i am!”

“sorry, sweetheart, guess you’ll have to learn how to.” the hunter mumbled, rubbing his eyes, tired.

“no, kill me!” you commanded, and the poison that was now flowing through his veins almost made him obey your order.

“no…” dean grunted, taking another step closer to the door, trying to put as much distance between you two as he could. “how do i get rid of… your spell, or whatever it is that you freaks do to your victims.”

you winced a little as he called you a freak.

“i don’t have all day.” he barked, and you, almost shyly, approached him.

as you raised your hands in surrender, dean let you get close to him, and tried not to react as your lips brushed against his. all he wanted was to pull you back into him and kiss you senseless.

“you’re free.”

“how’d i know you’re not lyin’?” he questioned, wary as you took a step back.

“you haven’t killed me when you had the chance, some part of you trusts me, dean.”

dean sighed. “only shame is that this pretty face isn’t real…” he reached up to brush his knuckles on your cheekbone.

“you won’t kill my parents either?” you chirped up.

he raised his brows. “they’re-?”

“i help them clean out the place from their occasional victims, guess they went too far out this time…”

“it was them?” slimy and grandma weren’t as harmless as they looked.

you nodded, looking away. “as i said, i help them with cleaning.”

he sighed. “christ…”

“dean-” you tried saying, taking one careful, measured step closer to him, but he reluctantly stopped you.

“go back to los angeles.” he growled.

“can’t…” you ran a hand through your hair, almost nervous.

dean really didn’t understand, you could’ve killed him at any moment, he’d been under your spell this whole time, you could've told him to kill himself and he would’ve done it without even considering saying no to you, maybe even saying thank you.

“what do you mean, you can’t?”

you sighed. “ny parents… they're too old to do what they do, they need me.”

“screw ‘em and leave.” dean said, matter of factly.

“you clearly did not grow up with strict parents.” you snorted, and you didn’t know just how much dean understood you. “i wish it was that easy…”

“so, you can't leave?”

“you go. please, they’ll come for you too, check yourself out while you can, before it’s too late.”

he paused, sighing. he rubbed his temples.

you looked at him, expectantly.

“useless to make eyes at me now, sweetheart…” he groaned with a grimace, “kinda ruins the mood when I know that you’re a hairless, ugly, gaunt thing. hope you don’t take it personally-”

you rolled your eyes at him. “knew you’d love this skin, though.”

“oh, i loved it all right, until fifteen minutes ago.”

“you know I can read your mind, right?”

“good for you, then you know how hard it is for me right now not to stab you in the eyeball.” he muttered.

“meaning i can see your deepest desire, needs and… well, that dream last night? one hell of a show.” you smirked.

“glad you liked your own strip tease.” he grinned back at you.

you kissed his lips again, softly. “goodbye, dean.”

he paused, considering whether it’d be a good idea to do all the things he’d been dreaming about since the first moment he’d seen you, but then he took a step back. “bye sweetheart, i better not see you ever again. don’t get into any trouble, other hunters won’t be as stupid as i’m bein’ now…”

you nodded with a gentle, grateful smile. “won’t.”

dean turned his back to you and walked back to his car before he could say, do anything else.

he sat in the car for a moment before dialing harvey’s number.

“oh, for god’s sake, what if i was dying, man…” dean groaned as his call was sent straight to voicemail again. “harvey, it’s dean. checked that sunset dunes motel, it’s not there. m’heading to the next town, maybe the siren’s on the road too. check in with you tonight.”

the impala’s engine roared to life, a deep, guttural sound like a lion letting out a warning growl, its power vibrating through the metal frame. it was the same hunger that’d driven dean for years—chasing, seeking, always so close—only then, it was no longer directed at the creature he’d let slip away. Instead, it was a growl of frustration, a raw reminder of the beast inside him that’d been tamed, held back, and left to howl in the silence of the desert night.

the open road was the one view dean winchester would’ve never gotten tired of, him and his car against the world, hunting things and saving people. sometimes he’d take a moment and think of all the people he’d saved in his life, but never a monster.

he knew he was being unfair, he remembered how hard it had been when he heard the shot that loudly announced madison’s death, and as he drove away from the sunset dunes inn motel, he thought that maybe he wasn’t really clean of your poison, some of it still in his system, making it impossible for him to kill you, maybe there wasn't even a cure and you'd just pretended to cleanse him from you. everything he believed in, killing monsters no matter how harmless they looked, crumbling down at the sight of your soft smile.

he quickly decided that sam was never supposed to know of what happened, and nodded to himself as the eagles started playing from the stereo. even if sam was to find out, it was none of his business what dean decided to do with his life when they weren’t together, it was sam who wanted time apart anyway.

the wind kicked up dust behind him as he drove away. the impala hummed along the long stretch of highway, empty for miles in either direction.

his grip on the wheel was tight, knuckles white, but his mind—his heart—felt a thousand miles away from the road he was on.

but he’d let you go.

the words still tasted bitter on his tongue, like swallowing dirt, but they were true. he'd let you slip away, yet your presence was still lingering in the dust and heat.

dean could have done his job, should’ve. he should’ve turned the car around, gone back to the motel, made the call. told harvey everything, killed you. but there was something in his chest—a tugging, aching part of him—that made him hesitate.

the desert stretched out before him, silent and endless. there was nothing for miles but the occasional cactus, the mountains rising up like ghosts in the distance. he suddenly felt so small against it all, like a speck of dust on a windblown road.

but he was still driving. heading west. heading away from everything, from you. he’d spend a few days a few towns away before declaring the siren, you, gone forever, lost.

maybe it was the heat that made his throat dry, or maybe it was the weight of what he’d just done, the lie he was about to tell. the decision sat heavy on his heart, but he had set his mind, no going back now.

dean didn’t know if he’d ever see you again, he didn’t know if he wanted. hell, he didn’t know if he’d ever forgive himself for what he’d done.

but the road was long. and he was still out here, somewhere in the middle of it.

i was so torn between the siren or maybe a ghost/vengeful spirit… ugh, im still not entirely convinced maybe ill even rewrite the whole thing