TITLE: Always Me
SUMMARY: Relationships were not her thing. Ever since she could remember. Until someone stumbles into town, and seems to hold the answer to that question.
the beginning to Season 6. Not sure about what I’m going to do with Supernatural
, but I shall post before chapters if there are any. Random tid-bit’s from the Angel series.
DISCLAIMER: The characters that are in this story belong to Whedon and Kripke, as well as the past history of the characters and anything that was taken from the shows.
Author's Note: Yet another one I just thought it. I’m apparently good at that. Well, it’s good. Normally I can’t. Let me know what you all think.Prologue
There was no way he was going to let what happened to his father and brother, happen to him. There was just no way. So while making a strict no attachments rule, Dean Winchester would also have to take some magical precautions. Him and Sam had just left a small city, and were somewhere in the middle of nowhere. In this nowhere that they just happened
to be in, there was an old witch that was supposed to be good at making love potions and doing love spells. There was one in particular that he needed. It was a stupid spell that stupid people used to call the perfect person. From what he had actually read
(from a book which surprised even himself) on his own, all he would have to do was write a list of what he wanted, give it to the witch-y women, chant a few words, and have her throw the paper into some disgusting smelling pot. Easy enough.
He grabbed the keys to his Implala, and left the motel room that he and Sam were in. Dean was going to go to this crazy lady, and hope the stupid spell worked. If not him and some poor random girl would be screwed over royally. And not in the way that he would have personally liked. So he went on his way, driving into the desert, even more into the middle of nowhere, to get to this old which women’s hut that you were supposed to just “click your heels three times and get to the love shack” in his own words that he had spoken out loud when doing research. These things on their own gave his brother a heart attack. Putting them together nearly killed the poor kid. The memory of how Sam had nearly fallen off the bed, made Dean smile.
Due to the memory, he nearly crashed into the not so shack-y shack. It was as if someone had taken a house out of suburbia and dropped it in the middle of the Nevada dessert. It was complete with gnomes in the front yard, a huge oak tree with a kid’s swing attached to a large branch, a white picket fence, a little birdie wind chime on the porch. Not to mention the huge garden off to one side of the front yard. The only thing he didn’t see was the actual people that lived in the house.
Figuring this had to be the place, Dean opened the white picket fence (which really made his stomach churn. Who really likes those things, anyway?
He thought to himself, rolling his eyes slightly.) and began to walk up the paved path to the porch. Before he even reached the porch, a women, that was most definitely not
an old hag looking women stepped out. “Okay. I know why you’re here and I hope ya at least have a small idea ‘bout what ya want to put on your list. My son Mikey is going to a soccer game in about an hour,” the women said in a heave southern accent and she ushered him inside.
Before he got to look at anything she sat him down in a chair in the kitchen and gave him a note pad and a pen. “Ya write the list on that paper with that pen or it won’t work. If you put something you don’t want, do not. I’ll repeat myself, do not
just cross it out. Start over. People always just cross it out. And I can’t see nothin’ on it, only you can. So I couldn’t fix it if ya did. You can do it however ya wan’. Numbers, bullets, little starts, paragraph, really don’ matter. I’ll be back in about ten minutes ta get ya,” the women said in a rush as she was leaving the room. “By the way,” she said poking her head back through the white doorway, “I’m Josephine, and there will be a list that you won’t be able to get rid of until ya find the girl."
With that she left. Leaving with nothing on his mind. What was he supposed to write down? Things that actually bugged the crap out of him? Things he would love but that were completely unrealistic? “What the hell,” he muttered, as he just started writing down both. The things on the list ranged from simply the way she acted, to what she knew. From how shed act around people, to how she acted about family. From her past, to her future. From how they would meet, to how he would act around her. And simply because the woman had said “bullets” that was exactly what he did. Only he truly drew little bullets for each and every one of them. Remembering to put down that she’d have to hate guns.
Dean was sure he could have kept going. Once he started fifty million other things came to mind, and he had to write that down. Many of them were contradictory. But he didn’t care. It only made it more unlikely. But he didn’t get to keep going. Josephine came back into the room and asked him if he was ready, and he nodded courtly. There was no point in adding more things. So he followed her into what he assumed was a den, watching her shut and lock it. The lights were dim and there was the pot was supposed to see in the middle of the room. He was tempted to hold him breath, when he realized it didn’t smell horrible. It’s smelt like…chocolate chip cookies? Whatever. Maybe this witch was really good at what she did.
“So ya get that once ya do this, there ain’t no goin’ back right?” Josephine asked, rubbing her hands down her jeans.
“Yeah,” was the simple answer she received.
“And that you’ll be bound to this girl forever. Always love her and all that jazz? Not have the ability ta love nobody else in that way?”
“Just have ta check. Ya know. Make sure you’re on the up and up.”
With that they started. He chanted the little phrase that he was supposed to chant. She called upon some ‘Goddess’. The paper was thrown into the pot and a bright light erupted from it and shot out the window. The mother told him that it was done. She said he’d always find the list he had written by his heart, and wouldn’t go away until he found her again. (Even though she had already.) She also told him that he’d lose it. And with that the house was gone. He was sitting back in his car, holding a piece of paper with all the things he had put on the list in his own hand writing. List of things:
Knows about the Supernatural.
Just like me.
Itty-bitty size wise.
Skinny as a twig.
Could knock me flat on my ass.
Loves my car.
Hates Sam for some reason.
When she leaves she always comes back.
Shouldn’t really exist.
Nothing like me.
Has a kid sister.
Would do anything for her family.
Gets sick and tired of people being annoying.
Don’t let people in to the “real her”. (That’s tacky.)
Everyone she cares about knows everything about her.
I meet her singing karaoke.
Her friend with some religious name makes us dance.
Makes me nevus for some reason.
Falls in love with people and ends up having something that is actually horrible happen to them or her in the process.
Loves me from the moment I say something honest to her.
Makes up her mind to never make a commitment.
Has a normal life.
Smells like vanilla.
Leave me alone the first time we have sex.
Connects with Sammy.
Gets Sammy to see something he couldn’t understand.
Has stupid sayings.
I save her from something evil only after she’s saved me at least three times.
Knows my dad.
Lost her mother.
Doesn’t know how to turn the safety on on a gun.
Is a horrible driver.
Has issues that she hasn’t told anyone.