Jump Into the Fire

Sam and Dean pulled the Impala in front of a white two-story house planted in a suburban neighborhood complete with cul-de-sac. The

particular house they were settled on included a two-car garage and basketball goal in the driveway. Dean gawked at the perfectly

manicured lawn that featured an automatic sprinkler system and a flower-lined stone path from the driveway to the front door. Sam

couldn't help but notice the two cars in the driveway -- one, a four -door sedan, the other...

"Yeah, Dean, there's a minivan," he said, turning to his older brother. "Does that really not strike you as a giant red flag?"

"Look, Sammy, I know this girl," Dean stated with confidence. "This is just a cover."

"So you're suggesting that she lives in Suburbia as a means to fool...Who, exactly?"

"She's a hunter, Sammy, down to her core. I mean, she loves this life more than...More than Gordon did."

"Yeah, comparing her to a sociopath who wanted to kill me is not making me any less apprehensive about this."

"Okay, so maybe that was a bad reference." Dean cut the car off and opened his driver's side door. "Nobody knows as much about this

thing as she does."

"What about Bobby? Or does he not have the right measurements?" Dean smirked, breaking Sam's confidence that much more.

Sometimes his big brother was prone to thinking with the wrong parts, and on more than one occasion it had almost cost both of them

their lives.

"Stay in the car, Samnmy." With that, Dean exited the vehicle and shut the door.

He made his way from the street to the front door, walking along the lawn and dodging the sprinklers. He glanced over at the home

security sign planted along the path and a chuckle came from his mouth. When he reached the door, he took a moment to collect himself

before ringing the bell. It took a moment, but when the door was answered, Dean felt his heart flutter a little.

"Dean?" Smythe had answered. Dean didn't catch the panic on her face, he was too busy admiring the package. Even after five years,

she was still every bit the woman he remembered.

She was obviously dressed for bed, wearing a pair of shorts and a white tank top that hugged the curve of her waist. Her legs were still

long and shapely, and her skin was sun-bronzed and enticing. His eyes moved up, lingering for a moment on the modest cleavage she

was showing, then finally settling on her face.

She was even more gorgeous than his mind had let him remember. He supposed it was because his desire to find her wouldn't have

held out for the excuse of a case. Her lips were still round and full, and for a moment he allowed himself to relive kissing them. Her long,

light brown hair was drawn up into a ponytail, a few locks falling out of place around her face. His gaze settled on her almond-shaped

brilliant green eyes, and that's when he noticed her panic.

"Hey, Smythe," he said, smiling at her.

"Honey, who is it?" called a voice from inside the house. Dean's heart sank when the door was opened completely and he was staring at

another man. A man with the head of the sleeping child he was holding resting on his shoulder. Sam had been right. But maybe there

was still some hope.

"Graham, this is..." She paused and gave herself a minute to regain her composure. "I'm sorry. What did you say your name was?"

Smythe's expression had changed from panic to concern. Dean caught on.

"Dean," he replied.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Dean," Graham said, extending his free hand. Dean took it in a firm grasp before letting go.

"Dean was just looking for the Taylors'. Why don't you go put Steph to bed and I'll be up in a minute?"

He kissed her lightly before nodding at the stranger and disappearing up the stairs. She waited a few moments, figuring him out of

earshot before walking out of the house and pulling the door to a small crack.

"You haven't changed a bit." Dean glanced at his surroundings before adding, "Well, not physically."

"What the hell are you doing here?" The tone of her voice was neither warm nor welcoming. Coupled with the look she was wearing,

Dean knew that he head made a mistake in coming.

"I needed your help."

"With what? The way back out of town?" He started to speak, but was promptly cut off. "Whatever you're trying to bring to my door, turn

around and take it back with you. That's not my life."

Dean stared at her speechless for a moment. As she turned to step back inside of her house, he was struck by reality and quickly

reached out to grab her arm which she pulled away quickly upon whipping around.

"I drove for two days for your help, Smythe," he was pleading. "I wouldn't have come here if I didn't need it."

"I'm sorry you wasted two days of your life." He couldn't believe it, but she was even colder than he remembered. "But I told you, that isn't

my life anymore. Whatever help you thought you were going to get, you showed up at the wrong door. So turn your car around and drive

two days in any direction."

He watched her turn around. She put her hand onto her door knob as she pushed her front door open. "Lives are at stake," he said. She

didn't turn around. She merely lowered her head for a moment, then raised it as she walked inside of her house. She didn't bother to turn

to look at him again.

"Not mine." And with that she shut her front door and Dean listened for the lock before turning around.

Dean turned and kicked one of the small flower bushes before making his way back across the yard to the Impala. He slammed the door

behind him, causing Sam's head to turn sharply. His brother was fuming, and he could tell that this would be a long drive to the motel.

Sam cleared his throat, deciding against his better judgement to speak.

"What happened?" he asked, already knowing the answer, but figuring it better for Dean to get his anger out.

"When we get to the motel, we'll call Bobby," he responded. "I'm not going into this thing half-assed."

Dean didn't speak again for the forty-minute drive back to the motel in Lincoln.

Chandler, Indiana

2003

Smythe was running out of money. Being a hunter wasn't exactly lucrative work, and yet it couldn't be done very successfully without

money. After all, fake IDs weren't free. And as a hunter from a line of hunters, there weren't many marketable skills she was equipped

with, so her best bet was hustling. After being in the town's local dive bar for an hour and a half, she had taken enough shots to have her

stagger her way across the floor to the pool table.

She found the perfect mark. Fat, stupid, and harboring a serious Alpha Male complex. She put her pool cue down after losing her third

game in a row. She began to giggle and toss her hair as she stumbled into him, planting her hand onto his chest with a grin.

"Come on now," she started in a ditzy tone, "you have to give me a chance to win my money back. I'm supposed to go get a mani-pedi

tomorrow. And I can't do it without that money."

"Sorry, Sweetheart," he responded, placing his hand onto the small of her back, "bank's closed."

"Please? I really need that money." With that, a smirk crossed the man's face and he began to trace his finger up and down the curve of

her waist as he fanned the money with his other hand. "Isn't there something I can put up?"

"As a matter of fact, there is." She attempted to keep down whatever food she had eaten earlier in the day when he pulled his hand around

to her stomach and ran it down to the waist of her jeans. She had counted on him not only being physically repulsive, but also genuinely

disgusting. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder and pressed a finger to his lips.

"Double or me it is. You'll rack, then?" she asked with a smile. He immediately put the money down onto the side of the table and made

his way to the end of it to rack the balls. She picked up the chalk and made sure to get his attention as she held the pool cue between her

legs to rub the chalk onto the tip of it. Once he pulled the rack away, he stood back to watch her.

"Ladies first, of course." She nodded a small thank you then bent over to line up a shot. He was too busy gawking at her cleavage resting

perkily on the edge of the table to notice that he was about to be hustled. As she broke, she managed to sink three balls. Only when she

straightened up and sank two more did he realize what was going on. "Wait a minute!"

"You know, I think the alcohol is starting to kick in." It took her three more shots to beat him. Once she sank the eight-ball, she placed her

cue back onto the table and reached for the money that she had rightfully earned. It didn't take long for his hand to come slamming down

on top of hers, grabbing it forcefully and twisting her wrist a bit.

"You hustled me."

"That's what happens when you assume things. If you don't mind, I'll take my money now." Any other woman of her stature in this position

would be terrified. She was in a dive bar in the middle of nowhere surrounded by scary looking men, but for some reason this didn't

phase her. This was her life.

Dean had been sitting at the bar talking to the blonde on his left. After driving for a day and a half when he stopped at the bar he intended

to blow off some steam, and she was just the woman to do it with. He had kept his eye on the drunk girl, though. And for once, his

intentions were chivalrous. He knew something was going to happen. Either that guy was going to get hustled or she was going to need

someone to save her. He wasn't very surprised that he had been right on both accounts. He put down his beer, dropped some money on

the bar, and excused himself from his blonde before hopping off of his stool and heading over to what he supposed was a damsel in

distress.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked. The man's eyes moved to look, Smythe's stayed glued on her winnings.

"Mind your own business," the man replied gruffly. "This is between me and the bitch."

"Whoa, whoa...No need for name calling. I'm sure there's an explanation as to why you're about to publicly assault a woman. You got

hustled, Chief, why don't you give the lady her money, go home, and live to fight another day. Or, you know what? How about a

cheeseburger?" He pulled a few ones out of his pocket and handed them over. "On me?"

"You have about five seconds to get outta here before I mangle your face."

"Okay, seriously," she started, becoming annoyed with both of them, "I really don't have time for this." She reached her hand up palm first

and smashed it into the man's nose. He released his grip on her wrist and she picked up and pocketed her money while he stood back,

feeling blood drip down his chin. A few men who had been seated around the bar began to rise to their feet and Dean grabbed her arm to

exit quickly from the bar.

Once in the parking lot, she pulled her arm away from him swiftly. "I didn't need your help!"

"I don't know if you realize it, but that guy was seriously gonna hurt you. I did you a favor. Be grateful."

"And I don't know if you realize it, but I just handled myself. I know what I'm doing." She began to walk away from him. He reached

for her arm, intending to apologize. She grabbed his hand and flipped him onto the gravel lot on his back. She let go and stood over him,

looking down. "Go find a damsel who needs saving. I'm not that girl."

He sat up and watched her walk away to her cherry red, black striped 1965 Shelby Mustang. As she got in and took off, he found a smirk

crossing his face. He decided that he was better off cutting his losses for the evening, so he picked himself up off of the floor, dusted off

his jeans, and returned to his Impala. He still had to find a place to sleep.