The Hunter

Noora’s teeth tugged on her bottom lip before sinking in hard. The guy who’d come to tow her car smelled like he’d either been rolling in onions or was in desperate in need of a bath or deodorant…or both. She was trying her hardest not to breathe in too deeply or desperately slip from the cabin of the trunk and walk her way toward the hotel. Sam had said it was only about 8 miles, but it seemed like a much longer distance than that with the smell that was coming off of the man beside her. She had half a mind of decking Dean for making her sit next to him. He seemed pretty proud with himself too. Every time she’d spare a glance over at him, he’d give her a sheepish little, knowing grin.

Finally, she saw the crappy little hotel they were staying at and let out a sigh of relief, glad that her car hadn’t physically been damaged in the transport so far and that she’d be out of the truck cabin and into some clean air. Of course, the rain hasn’t let up at all, so there would be no fixing her car anytime soon. Once the tow truck driver parked in front of a few vacant spots, Noora quickly turned to Dean.

“Get out,” she barked, but Dean wasn’t about to move any faster than he wanted to. Noora let out a scoff before muttering, “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” under her breath and slipping past Dean, paying no attention to the fact that she was placing her ass in his face or the fact that he was taking the time to look at it. Once she pushed open the door and got out of the truck’s cabin, he shot a cheeky little grin to the truck driver, who returned it before they both followed Noora’s lead and stepped out of the trunk.

Noora immediately rounded the tow truck and stood behind it, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched the tow truck driver begin to prepare to get her car off the back of the tow truck and into a parking spot. Dean joined her side and she drew in a deep breath of air, gritting her teeth as she watched the tow truck driver slowly begin to lower her car.

“Watch the front bumper, you idiot,” she growled under her breath, keeping her eyes locked on her car. Dean let out of a soft chuckle, feeling like she might be just as possessive over her car as he was over his Impala. Thankfully for Noora, her car, and the tow truck driver, the car managed to make it off of the truck and into a parking spot free of bumps and scratches. Noora made sure to do a thorough inspection of the exterior of the car, wanting to make sure that nothing had happened to it.

“Well, if that’s all, that’ll be two-hundred dollars, just let me go into the truck and write up the paperwork,” he said, taking no notice of the shocked look on both Noora and Dean’s faces.

“Are you kidding me?” Noora was the first to speak, an irritable sort of fire burning behind those pale blue eyes of hers. “Two-hundred for an eight mile tow?”

“My rate is twenty-five dollars per mile, sweet cheeks,” the tow truck driver replied, giving her a greasy smile and a once over. Both Noora and Dean bristled a bit, Noora at the nickname he slung in her direction and Dean for the rate that the guy was charging.

“She’s not gonna pay that,” Dean protested, eyes wide as he looked over at the man. The man looked like he was about to shoot a smart comment back but Noora slowly walked over to him, giving him an innocently alluring smile.

“You want me to pay two hundred dollars?” She asked sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes as both men watched her in bewilderment. She stopped just in front of the guy, tilting her head to the side as the man nodded dumbly. “How about we make it 150 and we can call it a day?”

“No can do, sweet cheeks,” he said and her cheery demeanor immediately evaporated, “rules is rules.”

“Fuck your rules. I’m paying a hundred and you get to keep your ability to have kids,” she said, giving him a hard look. Dean’s brows shot up at the tone of voice she had taken, eyes darting between the two of them. She pulled her wallet out of her pocket and pulled out a water-soaked hundred from it, extending it to him. The man merely stared down at her, as if deciding on whether she’d go through with her threat or not. A few tense moments passed before the man snatched the bill from her hand, turned on heel, and started back to the truck. Noora crossed her arms over her chest as he started the truck up and pulled out of the parking lot. She let out a heavy sigh before turning and shoving her wallet back into her back pocket, stepping past Dean to underneath the crappy tin awning the hotel provided along the row of rooms.

She said naught a word as she started toward the office of the motel, arms crossed over her chest once more to prevent herself from getting too cold. Dean watched her for a moment before starting after her, glad that he would soon be out of the rain and out of the presence of a woman who made far too many threats toward a man’s family jewels.

“You can go back to your brother, Dean,” she murmured, barely shooting a glance to him over her shoulder. “I’ve got it from here,” she added softly before pulling open the door to the motel office and slipping into the room. Dean merely pulled a rather childish face at her back before turning and starting toward the room Sam said he’d be in. He’d had enough of her attitude anyways.



Later than evening, after Noora was settled comfortably in a hotel room that was far enough away from the Winchester’s that she felt like they wouldn’t get the urge to knock on her door and ask questions about Samuel Colt or the pistol he made. The room was just as shitty as she expected it to be, but as long as she slept on the outside of the duvet, on top of a sheet she brought for instances like this, she’d be fine. She was currently doing push-ups on the portable devil’s trap she brought everywhere with her, dressed in a pair of running shorts and a tank-top. Noora had always been one for keeping up her shape, now more than ever. Being a hunter meant she went after things that were twice her strength without working out, so she figured she needed to at least have a bit more strength than most girls her age.

Halfway through her routine amount of crunches, there was a hard knock on the door and she let out a heavy sigh, plopping rather loudly onto the floor and staring up at the ceiling for a few moments before another knock resounded on the hollow, cheap barrier.

“Open up,” she heard Dean’s voice on the other side of the door and her eyes slipped shut, sighing again through her nose before she hauled herself up off of the floor. She made her way at a leisurely pace over to the door and barely cracked it open. Noora stood there for a moment, watching Dean expectantly through the crack in the door as Dean looked over her attire, the sheen of sweat on her forehead, and the messy ponytail her hair had been pulled up into.

“Yeah?” She asked, lifting a brow after he remained silent for some time. Dean blinked a few times before shaking his head a bit, his eyes darting back up to hers.

“The rain’s let up, but it’s too dark now to get any work done on it. Me and Sam are going to head out to a bar in town and I was wondering if you’d want to tag along,” he said, eyes darting over her once more. Noora merely started blankly up at him for a moment or two before shaking her head a bit.

“No, I’d rather not tag along,” she murmured, going to shut the door but Dean quickly stuck his foot in the crack before she could completely close it and prevented her from closing it completely. She looked over at him, annoyance clear on her features and in her eyes, but she didn’t say a word.

“You said you’d be nice for Bobby’s sake,” he told her, giving her a poignant look.

“I said I’d be nice, I never said I’d be a third wheel for the two of you and watch you try to pick up chicks and Sam do all the research for you,” she said bluntly, staring him straight in the eye. “Now, if you please, I’d like to get back to working out,” she told him, kicking his foot out from between the door and the door jam and shut the door. Dean stood there for a moment, staring at the expanse of white door in front of him before he let out a soft, disgruntled sort of hum before turning and walking toward the Impala.

“She’d probably just be a buzzkill anyways,” Dean murmured to himself as he crossed through the parking lot to the driver’s side of the Impala. Sam merely let out a soft chuckle as he followed behind his brother, shaking his head as he slipped into the passenger’s seat.

Noora merely shook her head as she peeked through the single window in the room, a frown set on her features as she watched the Impala pull out of the parking lot. She didn’t know who Dean was, acting like they were all friends and inviting her to go to a bar with them. With a heavy sigh, she tugged the curtains shut and stepped back over to the rug. She dropped back down onto it and resumed her crunches, pushing Dean and his over-sized brother from her mind.

After she was done working out, Noora took a shower, brushed her teeth, and plopped herself down onto the sheet she’d placed over the bed. She was suddenly thankful for her nearly clean freak ways because the moment she plopped down onto the bed, the smell of must and other various smells she didn’t want to identify wafted up to meet her. The girl watched the TV for a few minutes, checking the news to make sure there wasn’t anything local she could solve whilst waiting for her car to get fixed. Once she clicked off the television, it only took her a few moments before she fell asleep.

She didn’t know what time it was when she was jolted from sleep by someone practically pounding down her motel room door. Her hand immediately darted for her hunting knife, wondering how much luck she must have to be woken up like this twice within a week. She crept toward the door before she realized that someone was yelling at her through the door, slurring her name through the barrier, and that it just so happened to be Dean. She pulled open the door, keeping the chain on it, and staring at the clearly drunken man through the crack in the door. Sam was standing just behind him, hand around his arm as he futilely tried to tug Dean toward their room.

“Look, she awakens,” Dean said, with a wide flourish of his arm. Noora undid the chain on the door and pulled it open even wider to watch him.

“Get him to the room before someone complains, Sam,” she implored the younger Winchester, using a soft, kind tone of voice that she hadn’t used with his brother. Dean pulled a bit of a face, his eyes glassy and dazed in the light provided by the single streetlight in the parking lot.

“You’re going to use that tone with him and not me?” He asked, watching Noora closely, shaking his head slowly. “You know what Noora, if you pulled that foot long stick from your ass, I might actually like you,” he said, causing Noora to glare over at him. Drunk or not, she didn’t like where this was going. “But no…no,” he said in a sing-song voice, “you have to go and be this self-righteous bitch who’s too good for anyone. I bet you see yourself higher than me or Sam…maybe even Bobby now that he’s in a wheelchair.” Sam stared wide-eyed at the back of his brother’s head, his grip slackening on his brother’s arm. Noora’s mouth fell open in shock at Dean’s words before a fiery rage bubbled up within her. She took two quick strides to Dean, pulled her fist back, and punched him square in the mouth.

Dean fell to the ground with the force of the blow, letting out a groan as his hand came up to clasp at his slightly bleeding mouth. “You bitch,” he spat at her, but Noora didn’t pay attention to anything he said. She merely stared down at him, chest heaving and eyes alight.

“Get him up, Sam, and get him back to the room before I hit him again,” she growled through gritted teeth before she turned and stormed back to her room, slamming the door and caring less if the people in adjoining motel rooms decided to complain. Sam tugged roughly on Dean’s arm, pulling him to his feet and pulling his protesting brother back to their motel room without another word.

Noora merely stood in her room for a few moments, clutching her hunting knife loosely in her hand as she stared blankly ahead. As mad as she was about the comment Dean had made about Bobby, she couldn’t help but feel there was a bit of truth in his words. Maybe not so much on the self-righteous front, but she thought she was a damn good hunter. She’d been taught by the Bobby Singer, for crying out loud. She better be a decent hunter after being taught by that man or he’d tear her a new one. Noora knew, however, that Dean was right about her being a bitch and about her holding herself in a better esteem than most hunters. It wasn’t that she thought that she was much better than some hunters, but she was different. Sure, she came with the jagged, rough edges that most hunters came with, but she didn’t like to drink away what she had seen, nor did she like to screw around.

A heavy sigh left her as she padded back over to the single bed in the room and lay back down onto it, curling up on her side and slipping her hunting knife back under the pillow beside her head. For an insurmountable amount of time, Noora merely lay there, staring off into the darkness of the room as Dean’s rant thundered through her brain. Normally, she was as thick-skinned as they came, but hearing those words from someone so close to Bobby made it seem like Bobby thought the same thing as he did. When her eyes finally slipped shut of their own accord from exhaustion and boredom, she was given a momentary reprieve from her negative thoughts.

The next morning, Noora was wide-awake bright and early, sitting on the curb outside her hotel room and staring at her car with a warm cup of coffee in her hands. She was studying her car in the bright, yellow morning light; glad that the sun had decided to come out after the dreary day she’d had the day before. Her hair was in a messy braid, pulled over her shoulder as she donned an old flannel over a thermal shirt and a pair of ripped up jeans. A heavy sigh left her as she heard a door close somewhere down the line of rooms and soft footsteps approaching her. She kept her eyes on her car, not wanting to give whoever was walking toward her the time of day. Noora felt someone lower themselves onto the curb beside her and was determined to keep her eyes forward.

“Noora,” she heard Dean’s grumble of a voice beside her and she still managed to keep her eyes ahead, “I’m really sorry about what I said last night.” She merely continued to remain quiet, making a mental note that she probably needed to wash her car soon as she tried to block him out. And as if to prove that point, she lifted her coffee to her lips and took a long sip of it, focusing on the warmth of the beverage. “I’d had too much to drink and my mouth just ran away with me. I just want you to know that I don’t think like that,” he murmured. Noora slowly turned to look at him, her mouth pursed into a thin, tense line.

“No, I think you do, Dean,” she said softly, staring him dead in the eye. Before he got the chance to protest, she continued, “maybe not the Bobby part, but the part about me thinking too highly of myself and the whole bitch part.” She twisted her lips to the side as she eyed him for a moment. “It’s true, just in case you’re wondering. I am a bitch and I’m a damn good hunter,” she added on in an even quieter tone before she took one last sip of her coffee and placed it beside her on the curb so she could pick it up whenever she went back to her room. She took a step toward the car and propped open the hood, taking a step back and sighing heavily. “Now, let’s find out what’s wrong with my car so I can get the hell out of here.”

Dean merely blew out a large breath of air before he picked himself off of the curb and started over toward the car, eyeing the engine and transmission in the light the sun provided. Noora took another step back as Dean approached the car, crossing her arms over her chest as she key her eyes focused solely on him. Dean’s brow furrowed slightly as he leaned over the car, reaching his arm in and poking at a few things before sighing heavily and pulling back.

“High RPMs all of a sudden and then the car won’t turn over,” he murmured to himself, green eyes roaming over the car before glancing over to Noora. “There’s one of two things wrong with your car. One of them is a bit easier to fix than the other,” he said, eyeing the woman.

“Go on,” she murmured softly, taking a step forward and glancing over the engine and transmission before slipping back over to Dean.

“It’s either your clutch or you need a new transmission,” he told her, righting himself and furrowing his brows a bit at the shocked expression that crossed her features.

“But changing a clutch isn’t easy,” she protested.

“And buying a new transmission isn’t cheap,” Dean shot back.