Summary: when things turn bad and the Winchesters are not available, you knew who you got to call for help.
Sam had always said that when going on a hunt, one must always be prepared. as a hunter you always make sure that you had enough bullets or blades to fight monsters. what you didn’t prepared for is getting caught by the police.
so here you are, seating in an interrogation room, your weapons, multiple cellphones, fake IDs and credit cards laid in front of you.
“Multiple count of Homicide, trespassing, hacked cards, fake identity.... FBI, Sheriff and even animal control” the police officer said looking over your various IDs.
“is Y/N even your real name?” he continued while you remain quite, your hands bind by hand cuffs. the agent, rounded the table between you two and sat on top of it while glaring down at you.
“silent treatment huh? you know there’s no going out of this, you’ll rot in jail for all your crimes so better talk now and confess!” He intimidates, fortunately being a hunter comes in handy, especially when you’re with the Winchester.
“can I at least have a phone call?” you calmly asked, looking directly at the agent’s eyes, who clearly gritted his teeth in annoyance.
“you think getting a lawyer will help you out? we have evidence!” The agent shouted, slamming his hands on the table, but you remained calm.
“I won’t talk until I make a phone call”
in the end, you were granted a phone call. you have your phone in your hand, Deans name on the contact information but you contemplate whether to call him or not.
Sam and Dean are probably more wanted than you and getting them involved would only worsen the situation. you thought of Jody, but with the FBI already involve in your case, you would only burden her.
you were stuck, you had no one to call, you could pray to Castiel for help but the angel would surely just turn to Sam and Dean for help. however, when all hope seems lost, you remember someone, more powerful than the police and probably the FBI.
you dug out the slick black calling card hiding behind your phone case. the name Mick Davies written clearly on it. taking a deep sigh, you dialed the number, after a few rings a heavy accent voice answered.
“Hello?”
“is this Mick Davies?”
you knew contacting the British men of letters that kidnapped and tortured Sam, and Dean who repeatedly told you to stay away from is a very grave mistake, but you’re the type of person that acts now and thinks later.
The FBI agent kept you inside the interrogation room, he kept asking questions which you ignored. it was a good hour when the door opened, you expected the British man but instead a man with a bigger built in a fancy suit confidently walked in, confusing you and the agent.
“you’re not allowed in here” the agent said.
“as a matter of fact, I have every right to be in here, from now on Miss L/N’s case is mine” he said with a very familiar British accent, his eyes trialing towards you, offering you a smile.
“what?! I’ve been following her for years, you can’t just take her like that, who are you anyway?” The agent demanded, but the mysterious man remained calm as he took out his phone, dialed a number and gave it to the agent.
then the man walked towards you and took out a key for your hand cuffs.
“who are you?” you suspiciously asked as you rub your wrist.
“Arthur Ketch, British man of letters, Mick sent me” he mumbled while you took your things and stuff them all inside your jacket and making your way out of the police station following behind Ketch.
“why did you come?” you asked him as you stuffed yourself with a very expensive beef, Ketch kindly bought for you.
“I believe you needed our help to bail you out?” he commented, a very amused grin on his face as he watches you eat.
“I know I called for help but I didn’t think the British men of letters would bother help me after all the drama that happened with Sam and your lady agent” you said
“that was our mistake and we’re completely trying to compensate for it, staring with you” he said, his eyes never leaving yours for even a second, as if he was trying to read your soul or something.
“so what do you want? I know for a fact the British men of letters didn’t waste their precious resources for nothing” you start as you narrowed your eyes to him trying to savor the look of the mysterious man in front of you.
“and I know a top operative like you who only follows orders wouldn’t take me out for a dinner just to chat, so what’s the catch?” you asked raising an eye brow at him.
“first, the British men of letters is out of the picture, Mick didn’t send me I volunteered for this” he said his tone heavy with accent. there was something about him that seems to drag you towards him.
“second, I asked you for a dinner without a hidden agenda, I’m purely seating here because I want to” he continued as he take a sip of his very expensive and very difficult to pronounce beverage.
“but you do owe me one” he said as he leaned forwards the table and grinned at your fluster face.
“what do you want?” you asked
“hmmm I wonder” he amused as his eyes trail down your face down your body. realizing what he meant, you quickly cover yourself with your hands.
“screw you! touch a single strand of my hair and I’ll skin you alive!” you argued, all fondness for the so called gentlemen gone in an instant.
“don’t jump to conclusion, I’m not that kind of man” he said raising both his hands in the air, while you calm down.
“I’ll just pay you and then were good, I’ll get going, Sam and Dean’s probably worried” you said as you gather your things and prepared to leave but Ketch beat you to it.
“I don’t need your money, I want your time for my little help, a Dinner next week, same time same place, see you then” he said as he smoothly leaned down and captured you lips in a quick kiss then turned around to leave.
while you stand there dumbfounded, with a red face and quick beating heart.
