#ketch fic

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Arthur Ketch

The Thing Between Them Series Masterlist 

Dirty Work Series *In progress*

Head Over Hunt Part 1 Part 2 

Easy

Disguise

Holidays

Halloween

Weasley Orange Fall (Ketch x Reader)

Christmas

Christmas Interruption (Ketch x reader)

Main Masterlist

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Head Over Hunt

Part 1 

Part 2

*Complete*

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Christmas Interruption

Pairing: Ketch x reader

Word Count: 215

Your phone rung during dinner prep. "It's Sam."

Ketch groaned softly, leaving the potatoes half mashed as he crossed the kitchen towards you. Your thumb hovered over the answer button, but Ketch's hand gently wrapped around yours.

"They can do without you, at least this once."

"It could be him wishing us a merry Christmas."

"I highly doubt that." Ketch kissed your cheek. You nodded sadly, declining the call.

The second ring earned an eye roll. The third received an aggravated groan. "I'm sure whatever threat is out there can wait until after Christmas dinner."

Your phone beeped, and you played the voicemail. "Hey, Y/N, it's Sam. I'm sorry this is awful timing, but we're in Iowa tracking Michael. We could use some extra hands. Call when you can. Uh, Merry Christmas to you and Ketch."

Ketch raised a brow. "You know I despise being right." You bit your lip, eyes darting left in thought. When you said nothing Ketch continued. "It isn't fair that he manipulates you like that..."

"It's not fair that Micheal's using Dean."

You frowned, feeling all cheer evaporate from the room.

"I'll get our coats." Ketch kissed your forehead as he passed. 

(Want to be here? Ask me.)

Infinite: @mycuddlycorner @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @andtheraincamefalling  @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 @thewhiterabbit42 @carowinsthings 

Ketch: @heliosparadox @spencercollective  @alangel1895  @sherlockedtash88 @nobodys-baby-now @laurajw14 @blueberrykushlovexoxo-blog  @death-by-teacup  @yeahbecauseimbatman

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Dirty Work Part 3

Series Summary: After joining the BMoL with Sam and Dean, the reader and Ketch are paired to track down the vampires who attacked the British bunker.

A/N: Thank you guys for being patient while I worked on the third installment. It's also given me a chance to outline and write a good portion of part 4 done, so that'll be coming soon. Also thanks to @room-with-a-cat for an idea for a Ketch-related insult. And anyone who wants to can still add to the taglist(which is below the cut) for part 4. Enjoy.

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x Reader

Word Count: 2514

Part 1, Part 2

"I'm glad to hear it."

The short phrase coaxed over in your mind. You struggled for any differentiating meaning for the five words other than the obvious; that Ketch liked that you were single. Which meant, he was developing some version of feelings towards you.

It was the most authentic conversation either of you'd had with one another. You were both equally equipped with wit and ability to ridicule the other. But was Arthur Ketch truly able to show sincerity?

Your doubt made you retract yourself, instantly allowing the vehicle to overflow with awkward silence the second Ketch alluded to having an interest in you. Ketch too resorted to silence, having felt he'd said too much. As the car filled with tension, the weather turned. Dark clouds replaced the clear morning sky, illuminating rain to come as though to emphasize on what had occurred.

"Did the forecast predict rain?" Ketch muttered behind the wheel, squinting up at the sky curiously.

Your lips didn't part for a reply. You didn't know what to say for the remaining time in the car. You couldn't help but internally dispute Ketch's statement because for the time you'd know him, he'd always had a wisecrack. And just days ago Ketch was the enemy.

But he was the man who'd carried you out of the vampire liar in his arms while you were injured and unconscious. He'd rushed you to the hospital, only changing course because you requested so, then insisted on bandages up the holes that had turned to deep tears in your skin. Now you were stuck in a car debating truth to his alleged affections.

With this angle in mind, you felt Ketch's statement was authentic. But, you didn't want him to like you because you were a damsel in distress. And you declined any reciprocating feelings, for your own sake. Mentally squashing down any romantic appeals you saw in Ketch. Maybe he was willing to become vulnerable, but you weren't. You weren't going to swoon because you felt he liked you for all the wrong reasons.

The ball was in your court, and you very much wanted to toss it out the window. It was a tug and pull with Ketch, neither of you ever showing vulnerability. Masking emotions over with sarcasm and wit. Nothing expositorily real. But his statement threw you for a loop and all you could think about was getting out of this car.

The remainder of the driver mirrored that moment, minus Ketch's occasional frustration bursts against drivers on the road. Claiming, under his breath, how driving on the other side of the road was more efficient, and that American drivers couldn't properly drive. You knew better thatn to make additional comments.

After what felt like many more hours, Ketch parked the Mustang out front of the bunker, but the rain began to pour down, pelting the paved path to the building. You fought a sigh of relief, hoping to put much distance between yourself and the Brit.

Before you opened the door to run out to the bunker, Ketch stopped you. "Wait here."

Ketch hurried out of his seat, swiftly opening the back to grab your duffle bag and an umbrella before walking around to your door, popping open the black umbrella in his grip. He held it over the door as you helped yourself out, keeping you completely dry.

"Thanks," you muttered, keeping any teasing thoughts to yourself as you huddle close to Ketch to remain underneath the umbrella.

"It'd be ill-advised to get your bandage wet," he provided, feeling the need to give an excuse to be a gentleman. "How is your neck feeling?"

You blinked a couple of times, wondering if Ketch wasn’t mad. "It's better, thank you."

When Ketch led you indoors, you quickly detached yourself from the Brit, attempting to make way to your room.

"Oh good, you're back," Mick called out from the other end of the hallway, abandoning what he was doing to meet up with you and Ketch. "Ketch, I was just about to call you."

Ketch frowned, instantly suspicious of his superior's involvement. "I already texted you that it was a successful mission."

"With a minor complication," Mick went on, eyes draping over you. "Are you quite alright? Ketch mentioned something about a bite." You watched his eyes drift over your neck, straining for a peek underneath your hair.

"I'm almost as good as new," you stretched the truth, trying to ignore the exhaustion, though, from the corner of your eye, you saw Ketch give you almost what could be considered a concerned glance. "I just need some rest, and I should be good by morning."

"Well," Mick began, "If that's true, I could use someone to check out a shapeshifter lead in Omaha."

Ketch was quick to step in. "I can handle that," Ketch assured, taking a step closure to Mick as though to block you from Mick. "I'm sure Y/N here would appreciate at least a day's rest after the events of last night."

You squinted in annoyance, feeling a complex of bottled up emotions from the day surface. "I don't need time off, and I really don't need some guy who I've worked one mission with deciding what I can and can't handle. No matter what you feel Ketch, I'm not your claim!" You turned to Mick, ignoring Ketch, "Text me the details. I'll go first thing in the morning," you led off, turning down the hallway toward your room for some well-deserved sleep.

Mick eyed Ketch curiously, "Eventful mission?"  

Ketch watched you storm down the hall until you were out of his view before he glowering down at Mick. "The girl almost died, and you're sending her into another case-"

"She's a professional, Ketch. And might I add, maybe you should act as one too."

"What is that suppose to mean?"

Mick gave Ketch a knowing look. "Don't go falling in love with the girl, like you had with Toni. Makes for messy business, but you know that better than anyone."

Ketch's frown remained on his face. "What does that have to do with your irrational decision?"

"If it were you in her shoes, would you wait a day to go onto another hunt? Especially if the opposite sex told you not to?"

Ketch threw a nasty scowl at Mick, before turning down the opposite direction of the hallway. Ketch knew Mick had a point, but felt another thought lingering in his throat. Ketch stopped abruptly, turning his head in Mick's direction. "She's not Toni," before continuing down the hall.  

The moment your head connected to your pillow, you were fast asleep, disregarding the need to replace your bandage. Sleeping through the remainder of that day, you beat the sun the following morning, perfect for beginning a new hunt. The blood loss put a damper on your sleeping schedule but allowed you ample ability to leave first thing.

Walking down the bunker hall, you carried the same duffle bag from the last hunt, filled with the remainder of your clean clothes, heading toward your Mustang where Ketch parked it the previous day. You felt well enough to complete the mission, but maybe that was pure stubbornness to prove to Ketch that you didn't always need help.

Met with an unfavored sight when you stepped out the bunker entrance, you felt your blood begin to boil. Ketch leaned against the driver's door of your car, decked out in a rich black suit, matching the car and the early morning sky.

"Sleep well?" Ketch asked as you confrontationally approached him.

"Did you and my car coordinate or was it a spur of the moment thing?" You sneered.

"How's your neck?" Ketch ignored your sarcasm, holding tightly onto his sincerity.

You, however, felt none. "What's your damage, Ketchup?"

His head shook of slight astonishment. "What did you call me?"

"You just don't get it. There's another hunt, another creature out there hurting people. I don't have time for this. Now get your shepherd's pie eating ass off my car!"

"I am not stopping you.” His tone began to change into the monotone one he used as a cover. "I am merely offering my services-"

You snorted. "This isn't a sperm bank, none of your services are needed. I'm not looking for a British baby daddy."

Ketch rose from his semi-relaxed position against the door, peeling himself from the vehicle. He glowered down at you with what you believed was disdain. "I fail to see a reason for your aggression towards me. What could have I possibly done to offend you while saving your ass twice now? Is this about me defending you yesterday because I was trying to protect you?" He sneered.

"No. Look, I know you made your feeling obvious, but I can't think about that right now, there's a case. So, if you could move I would very much appreciate it."

Ketch's eyes fell with disappointment, but quickly he covered the emotion with more anger. "I thought what I'd said maybe changed how you thought of me, how foolish of me to believe that you could consider me as anything other than a thorn in your side, despite the number of times I've come to your rescue. Forget I ever said anything."

"Ketch," you began, realizing you'd offended him, but Ketch raised a hand, motioning you to stop before turning back and disappearing inside the bunker.

But you knew you were right about one thing, you needed to get out on the road.

You hit an invisible roadblock during your second hour of driving. The sun had finished breaking dawn, and you had time to contemplate the events of the last thirty-six hours. And after everything you and Ketch had been through together, you realized you needed to formally apologize. After stewing for two hours, it sunk in how cruel you'd been. If it'd been one of the Winchesters in his position, you'd carve out the girl's heart.

Not to mention, you were growing weary, a slight side-effect from the previous blood loss and the constant ache in your neck.

You pulled off the highway and into a diner parking lot, figuring you could kill two birds with one stone. Seated at a booth, you gripped your phone in your hands for a solid minute, working up the courage to admit defeat.

Maybe he did want to help, or maybe he genuinely wanted to spend time with you. Sure the overprotectiveness had pissed you off yesterday, but you were trying to understand that Ketch meant well. And that the arrogant man actually had feelings.

You felt stumped over what to say. 'Hey, Ketch. Sorry, I was such a bitch, I'm just not used to men trying to tell me what I should do. Or handing me my ass.'

But that wasn't entirely true. Usually, if something had gone wrong on a hunt with the Winchesters, they'd force you to stay at their bunker far longer than you needed to make sure you were all healed before the next hunt. You just didn't like it when it was Ketch telling you what to do.

But you didn't consider Ketch family. He was just a man, a strange one at that. One who openly enjoyed the kill, and worked for a not-so-secret organization that was basically a rogue Hogwarts. But you realized that this man was more than his cold exterior; he had genuine feelings towards you. And he seemed to semi-care about your well-being. That scared you. But you couldn't tell Ketch that because that would render you completely vulnerable.

"Can't say I'm surprised." His voice reverberated through the phone.

"Sarcasm aside," you swallowed your pride. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was harsh. And look, I'm already a little tired, so I don't know how my stamina will be with the hunt, so would you mind?"

"Mind what?" You heard the smirk through the phone.

You took a deep breath, finding the irony that when you wanted to have a serious conversation, it's Ketch's turn to tease. "Don't make me say it."

"Well, since you mentioned it, a formal beg may be in order."

You rolled your eyes, wishing Ketch could see your annoyance in hopes that he'd stop. "Ketch, I could use your help on this case. Will you please drive up?"

The call ended, and you glared down at the device. "Asshole."

"You wouldn't want me to drive back now, would you?" Ketch's voice came from the side. Your eyes snapped up to see Ketch walking a prideful stride to your booth.

"Seriously, you tailed me?"

"I knew you'd come to your senses," he answered, sliding into the booth while eyeing you keenly, "besides, I'm wondering what the third time saving your rear will earn me."

You bite back your tongue for both of your sakes as the waitress came to take your order.

You drove separately the rest of the way to Omaha. Ketch had driven up on his motorcycle since you already carried enough equipment in the back of your vehicle. Even though shapeshifters were difficult to exterminate, luckily they only needed one thing to put them down. Silver.

When approaching the Nebraskan city, Ketch sped up ahead of you, leading you to a hotel he'd previously booked.

"Hey," you greeted in the parking lot. "If the hunt's going to be as simple as you say, then why are we getting hotel rooms?"

Ketch shrugged. "Safety net in case this takes longer than expected. Besides, it doesn't hurt to splurge a bit, since it's all included with the gig. Though, it is a shame we'll be in separate rooms," he winked before carrying both of your bags towards the lobby, leaving you behind to soak in his flirtation. You could only deny the butterflies in your stomach for so long.

Tagging: @quixoticcat, @blasted-with-salt, @deaths-maiden,

@em-isnotavampire, @wayward-mirage, @justafangirlinaspnworld-blog, @bananyaaa, @lumenella, @clueless-gold, @omgcupquak3stuff, @emmamikaelson95, @yumes-art, @wanderlust-querencia, @sjt2510, @fairytale07

If you wanted to be on this taglist let me know and I’ll add you, if you see your name but weren’t notified, that’s on tumblr’s.

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Dirty Work: Part 2

Chapter Summary: The reader and Ketch hunt down the vampires who infiltrated the BMoL bunker. When the reader gets hurt, it brings out Ketch’s true colors.

A/N: I have finally finished the second chapter of this story. I’m thinking a part three to this, so let me know if you want to be tagged in future installments.

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x Reader

Word Count: 2324

It should have been simple. There’d only been five vampires left alive.

Faint shouts of your name echoed the walls of the home once occupied by a nuclear family, now ran by their conquers. The remaining vampires who infiltrated the Men of Letters' bunker and escaped. 

Your eyes fluttered with the sensation of blood leaving your neck in continuous gulps. Trails leaked down your neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt. Your body was panicked, lethargic from the blood loss. You twitched in the vampire's hold, as his teeth tore into at your neck, but there was no room to move. Arms pinned, tightly wedged between the corner of a wall and a man's body, but there was certainly no man inside.

"So delicious." The words vibrated between your neck, his fangs still intact in your neck. "If I could just resist for long enough, I’d save you for later."

Panicked and at a loss for any other option, you headbutted the vampire, causing his fangs to rip from your skin, further tearing downward. You groaned, resisting the urge to suppress the wounds. You grabbed your machete from the floor, wielding it at the vampire.

His hand caught the blade, barely wincing at the deep cut in his palm, letting out a hiss instead. With what little blood you had left was adrenaline pumped. You kicked his knee, lowering his frame for a brief second as you brought the blade up to your shoulder and swung it in the motion of a baseball bat, slicing his neck in a fluid motion.

The head flew ‘out of the park’ as it hit the opposite wall in the room.  

Exhausted and seeing spots, your knees hit the floor. You didn't hear the heavy footsteps charging toward the room and a familiar British accent calling out your name.

You turned your head toward the door, revealing the gash on your neck before collapsing completely. Your eyes drooped as Ketch's shadow covered you, further darkening the unlit room. His arms keeping your head from hitting the floor. The warmth of his arms surrounding you, lifting you up as you blacked out.

The first thing you saw when you woke up was the as moonlight through the mustang's windshield. You stared at it a long moment, playing back the hunt in your mind like a fever dream. You and Ketch had gone in the house together, planning to divide and conquer, but the vampires swarmed you both. Somehow one had dragged you away from the fight, away from Ketch. Afterward was a blur, and all you knew was that your neck throbbed a though it had a seperate heartbeat.

The sound of the engine revving engulfed your ears, pulling you from your thoughts. You wondered why the driver was going so fast. Then your eyes widened and realized you hadn't checked the identity of the driver.

You tilted your head, met with profile of Arthur Ketch. You relaxed into your seat with an exhausted sigh. 

Nothing in the world would’ve surprised you more than the slight jump Ketch gave in his seat. His eyes slipped from the road, scanning your face, studying it for any evidence of something wrong. You couldn't deny the slight panic you saw in his eyes and found yourself instantly suspicious.

"Oh, thank God!" He gasped, before trying to recover his expression, giving an unintentional gulp. He cleared his throat before speaking again, this time in a more neutral tone. “I thought you were dying.”

You noticed then the white-knuckle grip his hands had on the steering wheel. You groaned, sitting up from your slumped position. “Don’t plan to.”

“In one-point-three miles take the south ramp.”

Your reflexes were sluggish as you flinched from the voice of the GPS. “Where are we going?”

Ketch swung into the right lane, preparing for the turn. “To the nearest hospital.”

“What? Ketch, I’m fine-”

“No," Ketch's tone was stern, "You're bound to need a blood transfusion. That amount of blood-”

“We can’t go. We can’t explain what happened!”

“I’ll make something up, what matters is that you seek proper medical attention. Mick instisted-”

“The fact that I’m conscious means my body is already regenerating from the blood loss. I’ll be fine without the hospital. I promise.”

Ketch glanced at the GPS, seeing it read that the exit was now less than a mile away.

You gave another attempt of persuading. “Let’s just go back to the bunker, and I’ll rest there, okay? I’ll recover.” When Ketch didn’t let up on the speed, you did something you never wanted to. “Please.”

The Brit glanced at you, studying your face with a masked expression before passing the exit and shutting off the GPS. “I'll be driving the rest of the way.”

“Fine by me,” you agreed quickly, whatever it took to avoid the hospital trip. “Ketch, why did you care so much?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, silently scrambling for a reply. “Because if you died, I-" he coughed awkwardly. “Mick would blame me. I’d be too easy to say that I wanted you out of the picture, after the amount we’ve bickered.”

You weren’t convinced but allowed the conversation to drop as you felt your eyes roll back, barricading your eyelids shut.

You were only asleep for a quarter of an hour before Ketch pulled off onto the shoulder of the empty road, getting out of the driver's side to aid your wound.

The feeling of his hand brushing your neck woke you. Holding a death grip on the hand before your eyes snapped open to reveal Ketch. Your eyes focused on Ketch's face, and his on yours. Ketch stared at you quizzically as though to guess your next move. You dropped your arm, realizing you hadn't needed to hold onto his hand those few seconds after.

Out of the corner of your eye, there were first-aid supplies on the dashboard, a sea of white gauze and tape.

"What are you doing?"

Ketch frowned at you, his original persona returning. But which Ketch were the mask. "Since you resisted proper care, it's fallen upon myself to bandage you up. You've already bled onto the seat. "

Your head spun around in a swift motion that would’ve made you faint if you hadn’t already been seated. Sure enough, there was a crimson puddle on your gray upholstery. You groaned, partially from the pain in your head, mostly for the damage to the seat.

"I know a swanky chemical that'll take care of that; if you're not above that." Ketch lightly grabbed your jaw, pushing your gaze forward as he began to inspect the wound again.

"Above what, cleaners?"

"My help," Ketch said quickly, keeping his eyes locked on your wound.

"Umm," you began. "I'd say I'm not completely against your help, since, you know, you dragged me out of that vamp den. Plus you're trying to help me not bleed out," you waited a moment. "Is this because I said that you looked like a vampire back at the bunker? I was just joking."

He wiped off the surrounding blood from your wound. And as the silence grew, so did your conscious' voice.

"Thank you," you muttered, ignoring the sting of the alcohol in the towelette.

A devilish smirk tugged at the Brit's lips. "You are most certainly welcome,"

You sighed, knowing you'd never forgive yourself for what you were about to say. Ketch paused, thinking the alcohol were too much.

With a deep breath, you muttered, "And I guess, for the grenade you shot at that car, also," you thought back to when Ketch had saved you, Castiel and the Winchesters from being taken into custody on the side of the road weeks before. It had been the aggravation that begun your feud since it had almost hit you.

Ketch put the gauze over your wound, using a small amount of medical tape to hold it in place. "Perhaps, I should've aimed directly at the men, rather than the car."

You turned your head, feeling the tape adjust flexibly along your neck. "That sounds awfully close to an apology."

"I wouldn't get used to it."

"Oh come on, I thanked you, twice! And you apologized. I think that's a good start. Maybe this mission wasn't so bad after all.”

Ketch gawked at you unapologetically. "You were bitten by a vampire."

You shrugged. "Once you've been hugged by a naked cherub, almost nothing seems as bad."

Gawking turned to bewilderment.

You smiled at Ketch’s expression before you realized the vulnerability of getting close to the Brit. "I guess we should hit the road, huh?"

"Right," he muttered, almost sounding disappointed. "Get some rest."

You turned your head, curious to read his face, but the Brit straightened up and already was half a pace around the Mustang.

You awoke again when the sun was breaking dawn, the light scorching your eyelids through the glass of the window. You yawned, forgetting for a moment Ketch was your designated driver, and that you were, by default, Mrs. Daisy.

“Are you hungry?”

You groaned, shifting in your seat to lay facing Ketch, away from the sun. Losing the battle of your sleep-dazed state, you kept your eyes closed, missing the way Ketch watched you curiously.  

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, immediately followed by a rumble of your stomach.

Ketch pulled off onto an onramp, finding a resturant to pull up to.

You peeled your eyes open. “But I’m bloody-“

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Ketch looked at you wide-eyed, and you realized he truly was uncertain. As though he cared to do the right thing.

"Drive-thru," you told Ketch. His face contorted into something that would make the description vile look like empathy. "Come on, I almost died," you argued, giving your best intention of Sammy's puppy dog stare.

“Fine. Eat in the car, like a savage.”

You ignored his insult. “Like the Winchesters,” you yawned as you felt the drain of your energy.

"Like I said," he muttered, pulling into the parking lot of a fast food joint.

With a couple of breakfast burritos on your lap, Ketch pulled back onto the freeway, pressing his foot hard on the gas as he went.

You smirked at the English hunter, an idea underfoot in your mind. “How far are we from the bunker?”

“Less than two hours.”

“Then you’ll need your strength,” You said, holding up the burrito at the gent.

“Get that thing away from me," he scolded, swatting it out of his proximity.

You shrugged, taking a bite out of one. "Hey when we get there, can we keep this to ourselves?" Ketch eyed you, raising a brow. You expanded on your thought. "You don’t know the Winchesters like I do. They’ll get protective and pissy about my neck."

“That wouldn’t be wise. Mick may have an impending mission.”

You frowned. "Look, Sam and Dean might just end up blaming you for what happened. This isn't your fault, you dragged me out of there, but they won't hear it." You thought of another point as you swallowed your bite. "Besides, wouldn’t you look better in Mick’s eyes if our first hunt accomplished went smoothly?”

No response other than his tightening grip on the wheel.

“Ketch, come on-“

“We’re going to tell the others, so you can properly heal before being sent out again, that's final!” His outburst silenced you. “Believe it or not, your death is not a fathomed achievement of mine, despite the misery you avail me.”

Not knowing how to respond to the nearly vulnerable statement, you changed course. “So, what was dating Toni like?”

"You don't have an off button do you?" Ketch teased, frowning with the new topic. A grand eye roll was achieved before the Brit answered. “Catastrophic.”

“So she’s a bitch to everybody, huh?”

“An understatement, really. I’ve spent too much of my time comparing her to the vilest of creatures and objects I could fathom."

“How’d you ever end up with the evil shrew? Not that I'm saying you're much better or anything.”

The ghost of a smile tugged on his lips due to the nickname you gave his ex. “Side-effect of being paired together on missions.” At the comparison to the current situation, all amusement left his features.

“And what, you two just built up too much sexual tension before,” you tried to motion an explosion with a burrito in your hands.

The smile remained on his face before he realized and dropped it. “It was more so letting the air out of a balloon.”

“I know what you mean.” You said, raising the burrito to your lips to bite.

A spark of a mischief idea arose Ketch’s conscious. “You and either of the Winchesters ever?”

You almost choked on your food. “Oh, God, no!” You let out. “I know far too much about those two to ever seriously get invested in either of them.”

“You seem close. I thought perhaps there’d been a romance or fling in the past." The car ride was silent a moment, as you ate your burrito. But Ketch was thinking. "But, I'm glad to hear it."

You dropped your burrito on your lap.

[gone-to-fight-the-fairies]

Dirty Work: Part 1

Series Summary: After joining the BMoL with Sam and Dean, the reader and Ketch are paired to track down the vampires who attacked the British bunker.

A/N: Part 1 of ? I hope you guys enjoy this. I was kind stressed over writing Ketch, because I hadn’t done it before, but all the Ketch feels wouldn’t repress, so here this is. I haven't watched 12x16 yet, but I know it's mostly a Dean, Sam and Mick episode so hopefully this isn't too far off.

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x Reader

Word Count: 1923

Regardless that Sam had been doing the BMoL's dirty work for the past two weeks, Sam convinced you and Dean to work with the Brits nevertheless. You’s sworn that to never work with the organization and its inhibitors, but you couldn't resist the guilt trip of Sam's puppy dog eyes. Still you were wary, understandably since the incident with Toni torturing Sam, and threatening the entire team. However, if the youngest Winchester could put the incident aside, you had no choice but to do the same.

The following day, you drove to the British Men of Letters bunker in separate cars; Dean and Sam in the Impala, you in your black Mustang. The boys were basically your brothers, but that didn't mean you would form the same opinions. You'd been stuck up a river without your car before, this wouldn't be another time.

It was near noon when both cars approached the BMoL's American headquarters’ gates. It marked as the second time you'd been to the facility; two weeks prior you'd gone with Dean and Ketch, trying to stop their vampire invasion. You noted they added a second guard outside the gates.

The moment the guards heard the roar of the Impala, they let both cars through without question. Someone made Mick Davies aware of your arrival, as he was there to greet you at the front steps of the facility. Putting your baby in park, you shut off the engine, tugging at your duffle bag in the passenger seat.

"Sam, Dean," Mick greeted, watching their heads poke out of the Chevy. The Brit's attention turned to you. "Y/N," he added, a non-flatulating smile on his lips.

"We're not there yet," you told him in a flat voice, staring up at him from the bottom of the steps, waiting for Sam and Dean as they got their bags out of the backseat of the Impala. As Mick stepped down, his eyes darted around nervously, making your mouth twitch.

You didn't want Mick to be entirely certain you were on the BMoL's side. You’d come as a favor to Sam, to give the organization a chance before you completely rid yourself of them. You weren't there to make friends; your current ones had gotten you into the current situation. Even though Sam chose to forgive, you weren’t going to let anyone forget the sins of the organization.

"I see." There was optimism Mick’s voice. "Ms. Y/L/N," he attempted the greeting again as he stood beside you.

"Well,” Mick started as Dean and Sam approached, and the four of you ascended the stairs. “Sam's had the pleasure of the grand tour, but the two of you have yet to see the entire place."

"It's pretty impressive," Sam commented.

"Can we put our crap down first?" Dean asked, and Mick's eyes flickered to your duffle bags slung over your shoulders.

"But of course." Mick turned to you, offering to take your bag. Your initial thought was to reject him, but in actuality, when Mick held his hand out, you politely sent a word of thanks and allowed him to take your bag. Delighted, Mick threw you another smile. He led the three of you inside. You figured you couldn't be entirely rude; you still had to be better than Arthur Ketch.

Thinking of the devil himself, Ketch appeared, marching down the hallway with a tablet in his hand. The man glanced up, his eyes latching onto your face, a blank, unreadable expression that only showed a contemplating front.

"Arthur, say hello, won't you?"

"Hello." Ketch did as he was told, but had a pompous tone sketched in his voice. "Glad to see you've decided to join us." His eyes flicked to the Winchesters before they trailed back to you. "I knew you'd make the right decision."

Dean was quick to intercept whatever eye contact you and Ketch shared. "Just two weeks ago didn't you say that you didn't care if we came or not?"

"Yeah, I think he said he didn't give a 'toss' if we lived, Dean,” you added, pretending to look at Dean before turning your gaze on the British hunters.

Maybe you still held some personal resentment from when Ketch shot a grenade at your friends. He did save your group, but you’d barely gotten out of the way before the weapon whipped past your head, shattering the glass you’d been standing in front of. Then, the Ketch came to the bunker, he basically insulted you before convincing you to hunt a nest of vampires.

Ketch's eyes squinted in annoyance, glowering down at you. But before anyone could make a remark you continued. "Well, I for one, am super excited to be working with you, Artie. I mean who knows, maybe next time it'll be me who shoots a grenade at you-"

"Okay," Sam interrupted, hoping to stop your comment before things turned ugly.

"Well, let us begin the tour," Mick carried on, as though you and Dean never created the tension. Mick traveled down the hall, after a second you and the Winchesters trailed behind without so much of a backward glance to Ketch.

That evening, after a prolonged tour and some settling in, you wandered the place by yourself, finding your feet lead you to the training room. None of their 'toys' were lying about, but you found a decent punching bag to take your frustrations out on.

You almost hadn't noticed the soft sound of careful steps down the hall between eager punches. You turned, internally groaning to see Ketch leaning in the frame of the door, watching you.

"Can I help you?" You spat, no intentions of using your honeyed tone from earlier.

"No, merely observing your form."

"Sure, you’re not staring at something else?"

There air remained still as you waited for a witty comeback. None came. You heart sped a little faster at the thought. "You’re going about it wrong."

"Hey," you called out, stopping to throw a glare at Ketch. "Unlike Rocky and Bullwinkle, I've never died before. So, I'd say how I punch works very well for me." You turned back around, taking a few more swings at the punching bag before Ketch walked up behind you.

"Here.” His voice come directly from the right, grabbing your wrist with some hesitation. "If you turn your wrist like so," He said, tilting your wrist slightly upward. His tone was softer than before. "you'd do more damage to your opponent." His warm breath tickled your neck. His face wasn't looking in the direction of your arm.

"Like you wouldn't want me to lose.” You couldn’t help the jab.

Ketch dropped your wrist, and you felt the absence of his breath instantly. He stepped around to face you.

"I don’t understand this loathing you have for me. We may have gotten off on the wrong foot, but I've saved your ass and those of your friends. You should be thanking me.”

You opened your mouth to rebuttal but shut it, focusing on the bag in front of you rather than Ketch. You thought for a split second that maybe you should show some gratitude, he did stop the government. But Ketch was gone, leaving you only with the echo of his footsteps.

The next day at a briefing, Mick announced the Midwest conquer of vampires.

"We can't fully consider Phase one of Project V complete, in light of recent events," Mick paused, seeming to find difficulty continuing his thought. "Ketch here has been working on tracking the group. But we haven't gotten a lead since the incident."

"I am working on it," Ketch affirmed, a slight edge to his voice.

Mick continued. "I know, but it’s a lot of work for one man. That's why I am assigning Y/L/N to help you."

Ketch glowered at his superior. "With all due respect-"

"I think a fresh set of eyes is needed. You've been working on this for two weeks. I think you're too close to the situation," Mick told him, talking in a silent language with their eyes that you could only assume was Mick affirming he was the top dog and had final say.

Ketch's eyes flashed to yours. "Wouldn't you rather go somewhere with the Winchesters? There's still plenty of werewolves around," Ketch suggested.

You smirked at the English hunter. "You just don't want to be alone with me."

"I wouldn't say you are my first choice. Maybe there’s a rabid dog or starving coyote I could along instead?" He looked to Mick.

"What happened to the British Men of Letters being your family? I mean, that's me now, fam."

Mick gave a great sigh. "This is exactly why I've paired you two together. You need to work through your differences for the good of everyone."

"Meaning the British Men of Letters," you mumbled in the direction of Dean, earning a grin but a scowl from Sam.

Mick finalized his thoughts. "You will both work on this mission together, and you will not compromise it."

"I hope that's in regards to Ketch because I get a certain 'I'll leave you to die' kind of vibe from him."

"Humorous," Ketch noted. "Showcasing that famous American class."

"At least I don't look a vamp."

"Mick, man," Dean interrupted, delaying any further rebuttal Ketch would have come up with. "I’d split them up. They're going to get each other killed."

Mick turned back to the both of you. "Arthur, I expect you to treat this like any other assignment. Y/N- Y/L/N, I do appreciate your willingness to cooperate with our organization, so I hope you will give this a chance."

Searching for new leads, you found a newspaper article on four dead civilians on the outskirts of Oklahoma City, all drained of their blood. The remainder of the group that attacked the British Men of Letters was careless, and dangerous, making a simple, educated guess that they were responsible for the murders. After making an announcement to Ketch, he began to undermine your finding, but inevitably agreed it was likely the remaining vampires.

"I'm driving," There wasn't room for debate as you walked over to the driver's seat of your Mustang, unlocking the car. You were afraid riding on the back of his motorcycle would bring back that tension from the training room.

"Yes, it’d be less awkward that having you pressed up against me the entire drive.” You internally frowned, wondering if he meant it as an insult or a salted fact, that you initially agreed with.

With the ignition of the car, your cd continued from its stopping place. You won an eye roll when Ketch heard the pop music.

"Hey, there's an expression where I come from," you began, hovering your foot over the gas. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole."

Hitting down on the gas, hard, Ketch didn't get a chance to respond.