( he stays put where he is as she stands from where she'd perched, resting her wait at the edge of that table and easing up the thin cotton of his shirt to reveal an ivory expanse beneath. the wound is glaring enough to draw his attention immediately, but he doesn't miss the baby-pink swells that've long since healed over. he doesn't feel the need to comment on them, and he's sure she isn't unaware of the fact that they're fully exposed. it's not his place, especially not when he doesn't care to speak on his own.
a low whistle; while the laceration didn't show any signs of fresh blood, it definitely wouldn't go well without some bit of patching up, at least to stave off infection. it's in a spot that's too easily aggravated, prodding tongue at the inner of his cheek before wagging a single finger in the air— ) Hold that thought.
( he's brief, shuffling over into the library where he snatches the kit as well as one of the clean cloths that'd been dug out with it. it's on his way back to her that his voice breaks the quiet of the room once more, metal tin set with a quiet clang atop the table, ensuring to speak primarily so that she knew of his proximity to her. ) Tracked one of the bastards to a local bar. Didn't take long to figure out it wasn't exactly top-shelf tequila they were serving. Couldn't tell you what it is about farmhouses, but it's not the first nest I've found in one.
( a pause, and then, murmuring: ) Here, ah— ( what little bit of courtesy he can provide before hand sets at her shoulder to get a look, repositioning to gingerly raise the shirt a bit higher to reveal the entirety of the cut. ) Just hold that there. ( he continues, then, hands moving almost instinctively, like second nature, one grabbing the peroxide to dampen the cloth. ) Me and Sammy, we've traced right to the source before. Most of the time, though, if you're patient they'll lead you right home themselves. ( he leans a bit before her to be a bit more eye level with the gash, warm palm resting at her side while the other comes prepared with alcohol. )
Again, her mouth crooked in a semblance of amusement. "I'm hardly a stranger to pain, Mr. Winchester." As the marks littering her body could quite easily testify. She mulled over what he'd said while he stood behind her, breathing slowly and deeply to keep from automatically tensing at the foreign touch.
His hands were warm, however, promising. If a trifle roughened, but her own were hardly soft and delicate. She could sense the strength in his hands; unsurprising, given his occupation, but they were also sure, steady, hardly hesitant. She obligingly held the shirt where he directed, telling herself that the shiver coursing down her spine was from the coolness of the air, and not the brush of calloused fingertips over her skin.
"Even monsters prefer the comforts of home," she heard herself quipping lightly, though she did clench her teeth around another hissed breath when the peroxide hit exposed flesh. "I had been tracking one of the younger ones," she forced out, more to take her mind off Dean's doctoring than aught else. "He ravaged then butchered five teenage girls before the local authorities caught him." She shifted, slightly. "They had no idea what he was, so they incarcerated him as they would a human."
She muttered a low curse in Russian, shaking her head. "He destroyed their station, mutilated all of the local officers, then vanished. I was contacted not long after, and set on his trail." Her lips pursed, though she flinched away from the alcohol's bite. "My mission parameters were to decapitate him and burn what remained." Hence her diving back into the bloody nest to do just that.
( he doesn't allow himself to fall into the trap that is her skin, the vessel of warmth she embodies. it's no secret dean's infatuation with women, but she's far more than a simple prototype. the way she'd fought, hell, the way she'd hunted, he has to wonder how long it is she's been at it, with scars like these to tell the tales of all she's conquered. needless to say, although his mind has a tendency to wander quite inappropriately, he holds a great deal of respect for the girl currently left open before him, back turned in both trust and an offering.
and yet still, he's just a man. it's easy to map out her figure, even in the way his clothes practically drape over her, picking up on the subtle notes of sammy's shampoo, some natural ingredient shit infused with argan and rose-something. it's not just that, though, but the way it mixes with the gentle scent that can only be ascribed to her. he's quiet, as she explains, and it's pretty clear that the way she operates is a lot neater than him and his brother. they scope the news, interrogate and reel for headways; not that he's ever seen one, but she's pretty damn close to what he'd figured would be a 'professional-type' hunter.
he's delicate with her—not to claim her fragile, but an apology in touch-form for the hydroxide eating away at any traces of dirt left along the raw flesh of the wound. ) I read the article. ( tone's a little more sullen, like a pit of anger much like her own wells inside his chest. ) About the girls. Authorities indicated a sixth, but she'd been drained. Little did they know exactly how.
( a beat, and he's ducking down to blow a bit of cool air against the bubbling white of peroxide, hands quick to the draw in retrieving a bit of gauze, the telltale peel of a bandage's wrapper being pulled back. butterfly bandages, to be exact. she'd heal, but it'd take a fair amount of time to close on its own. )
Think it's safe to say you wrapped up your mission. ( not that it ever feels that easy to close case for dean, not with the casualties. as far as he's concerned, the more deaths only indicated how much quicker he should've gone. ) Scumbags deserved a lot worse, always do, but the town's a hell of a lot safer with one less nest. ( a soothing touch to press the bandage to her skin, thumbing along its edge afterward almost absentmindedly. )
Natasha lowered her head and arched her back outwards, the better for the bandages to cohere to her skin when he was ready to apply them. The twitches and little shifts beneath his hands she couldn't entirely help; the liquids burned, damnit, and sitting still for them was torture she simply didn't need.
She didn't miss the timbre of his voice when it changed, speaking about the vampire's victims. It struck a resonance down in the pit of her own stomach, a thread of frustrating anger unable to be stifled, unable to be expunged. Because there was always something else, something else to hunt, something else to fight, something else to destroy. Man or monster, the evil never stopped coming.
Then he paused, and Natasha very nearly stuttered in surprise to feel a waft of warm-cool air brush over her aching skin, then the soft press of bandages followed, easing that mild trepidation. A sigh escaped, and her shoulders eased a moment later, eyes closing beneath the fall of scarlet.
"God knows I tried," she murmured beneath the red curtain. "Although he led me a merry chase, the bastard. I'd just completed a job the day before I received the call, but couldn't turn it down, not after hearing the details." The soft touch gliding down the bandage's edge brought a shiver and a bit of gooseflesh to the area, but Natasha straightened and eased the shirt down, simultaneously turning to face her host.
"Thank you," she said simply, with a single nod. "It feels better already."
( that's what it was all about, wasn't it? the unrelenting hunt. there was always bad shit out there in the world, there was before the winchesters and there sure as hell would be when someone finally ganked the both of them. sometimes it's easier than others to believe they're making a difference, but it's those other times, mostly when sleep doesn't come at all and they're fresh off a hunt that he wonders what the point of it all is.
he admires her tenacity. he's never been one to underestimate another based on their sex, and while she may not call herself a hunter, she's certainly earned his respect as one. he has to reel himself back to the present, that article and the girls that'd suffered coming back to the forefront of his mind that'd previously been inhabited by the warmth emanating from her skin.
a beat and those doe-like eyes are on him again, grateful and soft. ) Look, uh.
Don't feel like you have to rush. ( he knows better than anyone the restlessness that comes with unfamiliar grounds, but for once there's a company other than his brothers that he doesn't seem to mind, and that's... well, something different, that's for damn sure. ) We got plenty of grub, beer, warm water—whatever you need til you're good on your feet.
Somethin' tells me that won't take long for you, though.
An eyebrow arched and a bit of her humor--sad, battered thing that it currently was--curved her lips in amusement. "I do appreciate the offer, Mr. Winchester, but..." What but? The refusal was sheer reflex; she'd always scorned favors whenever they'd been offered.
Trust. She'd been taught that there was no such thing, that 'trust' was just another word for 'betrayal', and that letting anyone--anyone at all--inside was tantamount to suicide. Trust no one, her instructors had drilled into them, and you never be betrayed.
And she'd held to that maxim ever since.
Natasha nibbled lightly at her lower lip, wondering why she was even entertaining the notion. She couldn't stay here. --could she? This place was certainly a fortress; she'd spied damn few structural weaknesses in her brief examination after her shower. And she was savvy enough to guess there were more than a few unseen traps lying in wait for whatever nasty smart enough to make it inside, as well.
And, God, but she was so damned tired... She never wanted for work; she'd checked her voicemail just an hour ago and had five new messages, all of them contracts for her skills and services. A little time off to rest and recuperate might be just the thing, particularly if she didn't have to constantly keep watch over her shoulder...
These thoughts and others scrolled through her mind as she worried her lower lip with her teeth, weighing pros and cons, automatically calculating. Finally, Natasha lifted her eyes and met Dean's gaze again, pursing her lips in a small crooked smile before giving a soft nod. "...well...how about we just play it by ear, hm? Take things one day at a time." Her mouth crooked a little more. "I could use a little vacation, actually."
( yeah, he'll just try to focus on everything other than the sight of those pearled teeth tugging and playing at the plush of her lower lip. impossibly plush and impossibly pink and—shit, it's been too long. he's got no right taking out those sort of neglected manners on her, though, especially not after the hits she'd taken for him in response to those he'd taken for her. they were on even grounds, and while he couldn't call the case a win, they'd landed a pretty solid resource out of it all.
he can only chuckle at the word: ) Vacation. ( it huffs from his lips as if a mirage he's fantasized one too many times. there were no breaks from 'the life', no vacations. taking a few days off meant there was a chance there were innocent people out there dying, lives that could've been saved if they weren't shacked up with their feet on the table cracking open beers. )
Yeah, as close as we can get, huh? ( hand lifts to scratch at the scruff shadowed along his jaw, tracing that uneven split of her mouth. )
Hope the room's comfortable enough for you. We ah, don't usually have guests. ( or not any that stay, anyway. )
She had the sense that these brothers weren't part of any organized clan of hunters, not like the Syndicate for which she worked. But then, those sorts of clans kept well below most radars; no one found one unless the organization wanted to be found. She wasn't sure just how many Syndicates operated on American soil; perhaps only one.
Either way, killing paranormal entities for a living did get a little...wearing, and she'd learned to compartmentalize both monsters and victims in order to complete her contracts without going absolutely insane from the horror of it all. Yes, she knew what lurked on the other side of the shadows, and perhaps she wasn't wired correctly not to be afraid of it.
But then, she hadn't needed a monster in the closet to witness the ultimate horror. Humans were quite adept at that, after all.
Now, however, Natasha found herself watching--without meaning to--Dean's fingers scritching along that sharp jawline, and felt slow warmth beginning to seep into her blood. Horrible timing, that. And for the love of God, she had no intention of getting involved further with these two...no matter how this Dean Winchester just somehow fit the type of man that checked each and every one of her preference boxes.
Bloody fucking hell. Mind yourself, Natalia Alianova.
So she pulled her gaze away briefly, giving it back to respond with, "Mm? Oh, yes, thank you. It's fine." A sincere smile curved her lips, backed by a soft chuckle. "I'm not the sort to expect satin sheets and a gilded headboard, Mr. Winchester."
( he catches the way she looks at him, but he can't help but to wonder if it's just his own selfish inclination to want her to pay attention to him that way. it's not the norm that he's this strung up, that he hasn't found someone to indulge whether it be a bar or one of those friggin' dating apps, but when cases came up one after the other, they were priority, and it was only when they'd settle back at the bunker or one of those rundown hotel beds that he'd feel it hungering within him.
her chuckle warms him, finding his thoughts wandering off far too much for comfort. still, she manages to bring him back. a smirk of his own meets hers in response, perhaps a little coyer. it's all unintentional.
of course. ) This place is a hell of an upgrade from bunking at motel rooms, the bedrooms though seems to be where they paid the littlest attention. ( given the grand library, the tech that still went beyond him at times. but ask him and he's perfectly happy with his room, merely for the fact that it's his. concrete walls and a plain old bed and all. )
"They would, indeed." She'd indulged in a set, back at her own flat a few states over. One of her very few guilty pleasures, that. But she could rough it when necessary, and never minded doing so, as it was usually far easier and cheaper, God knew.
"But seedy motels just fit the image, don't they?" The teasing query preceded a little giggle, though the sound was more tired than amused. "This place, though..." Natasha gazed around with an approving eye. "It's really amazing. A real safehouse." She gave him a lifted eyebrow once again. "I imagine it'd take an army or two to penetrate it."
Before she'd even realized she'd planned to do it, Natasha took a simple step forward, placed a hand against Dean's rough cheek and rose on her tiptoes to press her lips to the other, his skin warm against hers. "Thank you again," she murmured against the edge of his jaw, "for bringing me here."
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a low whistle; while the laceration didn't show any signs of fresh blood, it definitely wouldn't go well without some bit of patching up, at least to stave off infection. it's in a spot that's too easily aggravated, prodding tongue at the inner of his cheek before wagging a single finger in the air— ) Hold that thought.
( he's brief, shuffling over into the library where he snatches the kit as well as one of the clean cloths that'd been dug out with it. it's on his way back to her that his voice breaks the quiet of the room once more, metal tin set with a quiet clang atop the table, ensuring to speak primarily so that she knew of his proximity to her. ) Tracked one of the bastards to a local bar. Didn't take long to figure out it wasn't exactly top-shelf tequila they were serving. Couldn't tell you what it is about farmhouses, but it's not the first nest I've found in one.
( a pause, and then, murmuring: ) Here, ah— ( what little bit of courtesy he can provide before hand sets at her shoulder to get a look, repositioning to gingerly raise the shirt a bit higher to reveal the entirety of the cut. ) Just hold that there. ( he continues, then, hands moving almost instinctively, like second nature, one grabbing the peroxide to dampen the cloth. ) Me and Sammy, we've traced right to the source before. Most of the time, though, if you're patient they'll lead you right home themselves. ( he leans a bit before her to be a bit more eye level with the gash, warm palm resting at her side while the other comes prepared with alcohol. )
Might sting like a bitch.
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His hands were warm, however, promising. If a trifle roughened, but her own were hardly soft and delicate. She could sense the strength in his hands; unsurprising, given his occupation, but they were also sure, steady, hardly hesitant. She obligingly held the shirt where he directed, telling herself that the shiver coursing down her spine was from the coolness of the air, and not the brush of calloused fingertips over her skin.
"Even monsters prefer the comforts of home," she heard herself quipping lightly, though she did clench her teeth around another hissed breath when the peroxide hit exposed flesh. "I had been tracking one of the younger ones," she forced out, more to take her mind off Dean's doctoring than aught else. "He ravaged then butchered five teenage girls before the local authorities caught him." She shifted, slightly. "They had no idea what he was, so they incarcerated him as they would a human."
She muttered a low curse in Russian, shaking her head. "He destroyed their station, mutilated all of the local officers, then vanished. I was contacted not long after, and set on his trail." Her lips pursed, though she flinched away from the alcohol's bite. "My mission parameters were to decapitate him and burn what remained." Hence her diving back into the bloody nest to do just that.
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and yet still, he's just a man. it's easy to map out her figure, even in the way his clothes practically drape over her, picking up on the subtle notes of sammy's shampoo, some natural ingredient shit infused with argan and rose-something. it's not just that, though, but the way it mixes with the gentle scent that can only be ascribed to her. he's quiet, as she explains, and it's pretty clear that the way she operates is a lot neater than him and his brother. they scope the news, interrogate and reel for headways; not that he's ever seen one, but she's pretty damn close to what he'd figured would be a 'professional-type' hunter.
he's delicate with her—not to claim her fragile, but an apology in touch-form for the hydroxide eating away at any traces of dirt left along the raw flesh of the wound. ) I read the article. ( tone's a little more sullen, like a pit of anger much like her own wells inside his chest. ) About the girls. Authorities indicated a sixth, but she'd been drained. Little did they know exactly how.
( a beat, and he's ducking down to blow a bit of cool air against the bubbling white of peroxide, hands quick to the draw in retrieving a bit of gauze, the telltale peel of a bandage's wrapper being pulled back. butterfly bandages, to be exact. she'd heal, but it'd take a fair amount of time to close on its own. )
Think it's safe to say you wrapped up your mission. ( not that it ever feels that easy to close case for dean, not with the casualties. as far as he's concerned, the more deaths only indicated how much quicker he should've gone. ) Scumbags deserved a lot worse, always do, but the town's a hell of a lot safer with one less nest. ( a soothing touch to press the bandage to her skin, thumbing along its edge afterward almost absentmindedly. )
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She didn't miss the timbre of his voice when it changed, speaking about the vampire's victims. It struck a resonance down in the pit of her own stomach, a thread of frustrating anger unable to be stifled, unable to be expunged. Because there was always something else, something else to hunt, something else to fight, something else to destroy. Man or monster, the evil never stopped coming.
Then he paused, and Natasha very nearly stuttered in surprise to feel a waft of warm-cool air brush over her aching skin, then the soft press of bandages followed, easing that mild trepidation. A sigh escaped, and her shoulders eased a moment later, eyes closing beneath the fall of scarlet.
"God knows I tried," she murmured beneath the red curtain. "Although he led me a merry chase, the bastard. I'd just completed a job the day before I received the call, but couldn't turn it down, not after hearing the details." The soft touch gliding down the bandage's edge brought a shiver and a bit of gooseflesh to the area, but Natasha straightened and eased the shirt down, simultaneously turning to face her host.
"Thank you," she said simply, with a single nod. "It feels better already."
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he admires her tenacity. he's never been one to underestimate another based on their sex, and while she may not call herself a hunter, she's certainly earned his respect as one. he has to reel himself back to the present, that article and the girls that'd suffered coming back to the forefront of his mind that'd previously been inhabited by the warmth emanating from her skin.
a beat and those doe-like eyes are on him again, grateful and soft. ) Look, uh.
Don't feel like you have to rush. ( he knows better than anyone the restlessness that comes with unfamiliar grounds, but for once there's a company other than his brothers that he doesn't seem to mind, and that's... well, something different, that's for damn sure. ) We got plenty of grub, beer, warm water—whatever you need til you're good on your feet.
Somethin' tells me that won't take long for you, though.
no subject
Trust. She'd been taught that there was no such thing, that 'trust' was just another word for 'betrayal', and that letting anyone--anyone at all--inside was tantamount to suicide. Trust no one, her instructors had drilled into them, and you never be betrayed.
And she'd held to that maxim ever since.
Natasha nibbled lightly at her lower lip, wondering why she was even entertaining the notion. She couldn't stay here. --could she? This place was certainly a fortress; she'd spied damn few structural weaknesses in her brief examination after her shower. And she was savvy enough to guess there were more than a few unseen traps lying in wait for whatever nasty smart enough to make it inside, as well.
And, God, but she was so damned tired... She never wanted for work; she'd checked her voicemail just an hour ago and had five new messages, all of them contracts for her skills and services. A little time off to rest and recuperate might be just the thing, particularly if she didn't have to constantly keep watch over her shoulder...
These thoughts and others scrolled through her mind as she worried her lower lip with her teeth, weighing pros and cons, automatically calculating. Finally, Natasha lifted her eyes and met Dean's gaze again, pursing her lips in a small crooked smile before giving a soft nod. "...well...how about we just play it by ear, hm? Take things one day at a time." Her mouth crooked a little more. "I could use a little vacation, actually."
no subject
he can only chuckle at the word: ) Vacation. ( it huffs from his lips as if a mirage he's fantasized one too many times. there were no breaks from 'the life', no vacations. taking a few days off meant there was a chance there were innocent people out there dying, lives that could've been saved if they weren't shacked up with their feet on the table cracking open beers. )
Yeah, as close as we can get, huh? ( hand lifts to scratch at the scruff shadowed along his jaw, tracing that uneven split of her mouth. )
Hope the room's comfortable enough for you. We ah, don't usually have guests. ( or not any that stay, anyway. )
no subject
Either way, killing paranormal entities for a living did get a little...wearing, and she'd learned to compartmentalize both monsters and victims in order to complete her contracts without going absolutely insane from the horror of it all. Yes, she knew what lurked on the other side of the shadows, and perhaps she wasn't wired correctly not to be afraid of it.
But then, she hadn't needed a monster in the closet to witness the ultimate horror. Humans were quite adept at that, after all.
Now, however, Natasha found herself watching--without meaning to--Dean's fingers scritching along that sharp jawline, and felt slow warmth beginning to seep into her blood. Horrible timing, that. And for the love of God, she had no intention of getting involved further with these two...no matter how this Dean Winchester just somehow fit the type of man that checked each and every one of her preference boxes.
Bloody fucking hell. Mind yourself, Natalia Alianova.
So she pulled her gaze away briefly, giving it back to respond with, "Mm? Oh, yes, thank you. It's fine." A sincere smile curved her lips, backed by a soft chuckle. "I'm not the sort to expect satin sheets and a gilded headboard, Mr. Winchester."
no subject
her chuckle warms him, finding his thoughts wandering off far too much for comfort. still, she manages to bring him back. a smirk of his own meets hers in response, perhaps a little coyer. it's all unintentional.
of course. ) This place is a hell of an upgrade from bunking at motel rooms, the bedrooms though seems to be where they paid the littlest attention. ( given the grand library, the tech that still went beyond him at times. but ask him and he's perfectly happy with his room, merely for the fact that it's his. concrete walls and a plain old bed and all. )
Satin sheets would be damn nice though, huh?
no subject
"But seedy motels just fit the image, don't they?" The teasing query preceded a little giggle, though the sound was more tired than amused. "This place, though..." Natasha gazed around with an approving eye. "It's really amazing. A real safehouse." She gave him a lifted eyebrow once again. "I imagine it'd take an army or two to penetrate it."
Before she'd even realized she'd planned to do it, Natasha took a simple step forward, placed a hand against Dean's rough cheek and rose on her tiptoes to press her lips to the other, his skin warm against hers. "Thank you again," she murmured against the edge of his jaw, "for bringing me here."