A/N: Hey guys! For those of you who have been subscribed for a while, here's a quick note: I will be posting a new chapter as soon as I finish editing/reworking the ones I've already posted. Just finished cleaning up chapter one! For everyone who's here for the first time, this story takes place anywhere after season 4 and will not include any mention of Soulless!Sam, God!Cas, Eve, Leviathan, or any other angsty crap the writers threw out way. This is a humor/romance casefic, so very minimal tears will be involved! Feedback would be wonderful, so make sure to leave a comment when you're done reading! :)

Enjoy!

"Jesus, is every restaurant in this damn town healthy?" Dean snaps from behind the wheel, watching in dismay as yet another pastel-colored, vegan eatery disappears in the rearview mirror. "Where the hell are the burger joints?"

"I told you, Dean, you're not gonna find any junk food around here," Sam says, scrolling through a list of local diners on his phone. "Besides, I've been dying to try this place called Zen Choices. It's only about a mile from here and it's got four and half stars on Yelp!"

Dean scowls. "Sammy, on principal, I won't eat anywhere that has freaking Zen in the name. I gotta have my limits, man."

"Fine," Sam snorts. "But fair warning, there isn't another restaurant for about two hours."

"Then I'll stay true to who I am and starve."

"Yeah, alright, Dean."

There's about a minute of silence, before Sam sighs dramatically and leans his forehead against the window. "It's just a shame you'll be missing out, is all."

"Yeah, doubtful."

Sam shrugs. "I guess I just thought you'd be into this kind of thing…"

Dean looks at him askance. "And why's that?"

"Well, I mean, Zen Choices is only one of the top three most renowned bistros in America. All kinds of aspiring models and celebrated yoga instructors frequent there."

Dean unconsciously wets his bottom lip. "Yoga instructors?"

"Yeah, and yoga students too," Sam says nonchalantly. "Just a bunch of young, healthy girls eating fruit, doing stretches, you know, that kind of stuff."

Dean swallows hard. "I guess it wouldn't kill us to swing by, would it?"

Sam, as it turns out, is a lying piece of shit.

First of all, yoga instructors and models do not hang out here. The hottest piece of ass for miles is a goddamn poster of some earth-goddess chick that they have hanging on the wall by the entrance. Second of all, everyone else around here looks like they just smoked a bowl full of something potent, time-traveled back to the seventies, and rolled around in flower fields for a couple of hours.

Dean tries to book it the moment they step through the door, but Sam just flashes him the car keys and grins. Apparently, he can now add 'pickpocketing' to Sam's growing list of dick moves.

"Sorry, dude," Sam says smugly. "We're here to stay."

Fifteen minutes and countless lungfuls of patchouli later, Dean's sitting in a booth across from Samantha, who has apparently decided to order the frilliest salad on the freaking planet. Dean—for the sake of whatever shred of respect he still has for Sam—detaches himself from the situation and disappears behind the handwritten menu. Still, he manages to snag a few key phrases, like 'lavender accents,' 'sprinkled with pomegranate seeds,' and 'light vinaigrette drizzle'.

At this rate, the only question is whether they'll go dress shopping or shoe shopping after this.

Satisfied with Sam's order, the mellow-eyed blonde dude (who Dean is positive has been smoking something in the backroom), turns to him with his little recycled-paper notepad and mini golf pencil.

"And what can I get you, brother?"

(Apparently the entire staff refers to everyone as brother or sister, because, here at Zen Choices, you're family.)

Dean asks if they have anything with meat—he's pretty sure they don't, but it doesn't hurt to ask, right?—and instead of calmly replying "No, sorry, sir, we don't," the dude gasps in horror as if Dean just requested a human foot as his main course.

"What did you just say?" he whispers.

"Uh, I asked if you have anything with meat," Dean says slowly. "You know, beef, chicken, stuff like that."

In response, the waiter ducks down and puts his mouth thisfuckingclose to Dean's right ear, his body shamelessly breaching Dean's fairly small personal space bubble. "Brother, we do not use that word here."

At Dean's blank expression, he clarifies. "The M-word. You see, we serve only fruit, vegetable, and grain-based dishes. Never…never m-things"

Dean is in the midst of deciding whether or not it'd be worth it to bodily remove the guy from his vicinity—because apparently he doesn't believe in meat or deodorant—when the dude suddenly straightens back up and regains his mellow disposition. Once again composed, he says, "However, I can offer you a delicious selection of organic dishes, such as our okra-tofurkey sandwich slam. It's a customer favorite, actually."

"Tofurkey?"

"Tofu-turkey," Sam says helpfully, as he takes a sip of his jasmine-enhanced spring water.

"Uh, no," Dean replies succinctly. "I guess I'll take the most filling thing on the menu and a tall coke."

"Sorry, brother, we do not carry—"

Right, of course they don't. Though, Dean supposes he should consider himself lucky that the guy didn't think the mention of soda was offensive enough to reprimand; he isn't too eager to have Mr. Peace and Love in his personal space again anytime soon. "Fine, what do you carry?"

"Well, we have refreshing lemon-enhanced sparkling water, rose and jasmine infused iced teas, a range of citrus beverages, and spring water."

"I'll take the lemon sparkling thing." That's basically just fizzy lemonade, right? Pretty hard to screw that up, even here.

With a serene nod, the waiter floats back into the kitchen, humming something by the Beatles under his breath. Once he's gone, Dean turns to Sam and deadpans, "Alright, Sammy, why the hell are we here?"

"For lu—"

"Don't you dare call this rabbit food 'lunch', first of all," Dean snaps. "And second of all, you know what I mean. We're not really here for the girly salads and the lavender incense, are we?"

Sam makes a point of taking a long drink of water. "Sure we are," he says, wiping his mouth and deliberately not looking at Dean.

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and stares at him. "It's for a case, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Dean."

Dean takes a handful of complimentary banana chips out of the basket and crams them angrily into his mouth. "I don't feel like playing games right now, man," he says, around the mouthful of dehydrated fruit. "Just tell me why we're here and I'll shut up."

"Okay, fine," Sam says, holding his hands up in surrender. "I saw a newspaper clipping a few towns back, alright? Something about a bunch of random girls disappearing around here, no connections or patterns other than the fact that they're always female. Yesterday, it was an eighteen year old from the local high school, three days before, it was a college intern, and two days before that, it was the checkout girl at Whole Foods."

"And why didn't you tell me we were here on a case?"

Sam fidgets and suddenly finds the blue tablecloth fascinating. "It's just… man, you've been weird lately, alright? Ever since…" Sam stops, thinks better of it. "Uh, never mind, it isn't important. The point is—"

"Whoa," Dean halts, interrupting Sam. "Ever since what, man?"

Sam looks conflicted for a moment, caught between the urge to tell the truth and the desire to avoid conflict. Finally, Dean's hard stare gets the best of him, and he blurts out, "Ever since Cas stopped showing up all the time! You get—I don't know, Dean—you get not good whenever Cas isn't around 24/7. You stop sleeping right, you snap at me every chance you get, and you're just generally unpleasant as hell!"

Dean's mouth actually drops open at that, because, seriously: where the hell is this coming from? He is not miserable just because Cas isn't here.

Okay, maybe it's harder to sleep at night because he's sort of worried about the angel's well-being (damn guy never bothers to check in, so how's Dean supposed to catch some Z's without knowing for sure that he's safe?) but it isn't as if he's losing his mind over it or anything. And, yeah, the lack of sleep and constant worry do make him a little snappish, and since he sees Sam 24/7, he's bound to take it out on him, but that doesn't mean that Cas's absence is affecting his emotional state!

And, alright, yes, he prays to the angel almost religiously, but that doesn't mean shit. Okay?!

Dean takes a few deep, calming breaths and then sagely replies, "I don't know what you're talking about, Sam."

"Really," Sam deadpans. "So you're going to tell me you don't pray to Cas every night and ask him to stop by all the time?"

Well, shit.

"Thin walls," Sam explains drily. "Listen, man, I don't know what's between you two, but the fact is, he's not here and it's making you miserable."

Dean clenches his jaw so hard that he can hear his molars grinding. "Shut up, Sam."

But Sam's face only gets softer, and he continues. "When you're around each other, you act…different. Happier, lighter. Both of you do, actually."

Dean's face grows uncomfortably warm. "Sam, I don't know what the hell you're insinuating, but—"

"Dean, I'm not insinuating anything. Feel free to take all of my words at face-value. I'm just letting you know what I see—and what I hear. Or did you already forget what you told me on Wednesday?"

Dean plays dumb. "I don't know what you're referring to, man."

"You said 'I miss Cas'," Sam supplies bluntly. "Yeah, you were drunk off your ass, but I could tell you were being honest." Sam sighs and glances away. "But, anyway, the whole point of bringing this up was to explain that I didn't tell you about the kidnappings, because it would've been pretty insensitive for me to just drop another case in your lap, with all the shit you have going on."

"Right. Well, I hate to break it to you, Mr. Good Intentions, but we're still here and I'm still on the case."

"You weren't supposed to be, okay?" Sam insists. "I planned on letting you just do your own thing and then sneaking off to figure the case out myself."

Dean scowls and eats another handful of banana chips, his jaw aggressively crushing them to smithereens. "Swell job on that front, Sammy. Anyway, man, I don't need you to friggin' tiptoe around me, alright? When I said—what I said, I just meant," he searches for the words, for the real meaning behind what he'd told Sam two nights ago in his self-pitying, drunken haze, but he finds nothing but truth. "Okay, I meant what I said, I guess," he admits begrudgingly. "But it's nothing new. And I'm not the only one, okay? What, are you going to tell me you've never missed him before?"

"You know, Dean, yeah, I have," Sam tells him. "But I've never felt ashamed to admit it."

Dean is spared from responding when their food arrives a minute later.

Shit doesn't hit the fan until Sam is halfway through his colorful, flower-covered salad. He's in the motion of spearing a cherry tomato, when the bell of the front door chimes, followed by the frantic and decidedly un-Zen shriek of a wild-eyed brunette woman.

"I knew it!" she cries, stumbling through the door. "I told them, but they didn't listen, and now it's too late! Suzy's gone."

In no time, the hostess—her name is Lucy, Dean thinks—leaves her place at the podium and wraps the woman in tight hug. Soothingly, Lucy rubs her back and murmurs placations into her hair, her expression filled with empathy as the dark-haired woman continues to weep brokenly into her shoulder.

What Dean finds odd, though, is that this whole display is met with nothing more than a few side-glances and pointed coughs from the customers and staff.

He shoots Sam a look and they simultaneously rise from the table, Sam shelling out money to pay the bill, and Dean digging into his pocket for his FBI badge.

When they've made their way over to her, Sam asks, "Ma'am are you alright?" at the same time Dean says, "FBI. We need to talk."

She stares between them with wide, watery eyes. "W-who are you?"

"Agent Smith, ma'am," Dean says without hesitation, flipping his badge open. "And this is my partner, Agent Crow. We overheard you speaking with the hostess, and we have some questions we'd like you to answer, if you don't mind."

She sniffles and glances over at Lucy, as if looking for encouragement. Thankfully, the whole process is made easy when Lucy immediately nods and reassures her. "You should talk to them, Eleanor. They might be able to help."

The woman bites her lip anxiously. "I don't… I don't want to go without you," she says quietly, her eyes round and vulnerable. Before Lucy can say anything, Sam gently cuts in.

"We could do the questioning here, if you want, ma'am. That way you can still be around, um…"

"Lucy," the hostess contributes helpfully.

"Lucy." Sam nods. He turns his attention back to the woman. "Would that be alright?"

"Y-yes, I think so."

...

"What is your name, ma'am?" Dean asks, once the three of them are seated at a booth.

"Eleanor Watson."

She looks nervous and flighty, like she's ready to jump from her chair and leave at any moment. Dark violet pillows swell beneath her lower lashes, her cheeks look sunken in, and she has the tired, sallow complexion of someone who hasn't slept well in ages. In all honesty, she looks like she just crawled out of a mental asylum.

"So," Sam starts, his voice deliberately soft and careful. "Who is Suzy and what happened to her?"

Immediately, Eleanor's face crumples like tissue and she drops her face into her palms. She takes a few deep breaths before looking back up and regarding them with watery, bloodshot eyes. "Suzy is—was my neighbor. She just graduated from Riverdale high school two days ago. She was so beautiful and intelligent; she had her whole future before her. But now…" she trails off. "Now she's gone and they won't find her, just like the rest."

Dean narrows his eyes. "And why do you say that?"

"Because," she replies shakily, "seven girls have gone missing in the past month and not a single one has been found. They haven't even recovered their b-bodies."

"What have the police been doing about these disappearances?" Sam asks.

"The police aren't doing anything," she hisses, her disposition abruptly shifting from mournful to furious. "I tried to tell them that something was wrong, that something bad was going to happen again, but they wouldn't listen! And now look what's happened: Suzy's been taken by something!"

Eleanor freezes and her eyes widen, as if she's said too much. She drops her gaze to her carefully folded, shaking hands. Quietly, she corrects herself. "I meant, someone, of course. Someone took Suzy."

Sam glances at Dean from the corner of his eye, silently confirming that there is definitely something weird going down around here; clearly, Eleanor is holding back information. For the moment, however, Dean glosses over it and silently tells Sam to do the same.

"Now, do you know the last place Suzy was before she was taken?"

Eleanor shakes her head. "No," she replies miserably. "They only officially announced her kidnapping this morning, even though her parents say she went missing somewhere around eleven pm yesterday."

"What about the other victims, Eleanor? Did they know each other or share a connection of some sort?" Sam questions.

"Not that I know of. Suzy is the only victim that I knew personally. As for a connection…well, the police decided the kidnappings were random."

Sam is about to ask her something else, but Dean stops him with a raised hand. There's something about the way she spoke about the kidnappings being random: something bitter and contradictory.

Dean leans in and lowers his voice. "And what do you think happened?"

She swallows and glances away nervously, her jaw flexing out of either anxiety or agitation. Maybe both. But, to Dean's surprise, when she finally looks back at them, her gaze is unwavering and steady—almost too steady, in fact. When she speaks, the words sound smooth, innocuous, and, more importantly, rehearsed.

"I don't know, Agent. As I said, there doesn't seem to be a connection."

Dean doesn't believe her for a second—and, clearly, neither does Sam—but he can already tell that she won't be spilling the truth any time soon, so he decides to ease up for now.

"Thank you for your time, Eleanor," Dean says. "Here's our numbers. Call us if you can think of anything else."

The two of them watch as she nervously swipes up the paper and flees the booth, her eyes resolutely downcast. Once she's gone, Sam slides out of his chair and announces, "Well, that was the biggest load of crap I've ever heard. She clearly knows something."

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Listen, why don't you head to that motel a few blocks down and get us a room? Start looking into the details of the kidnappings. I'm gonna stick around and see what else I can figure out."

Sam nods. "Alright, sounds good."

"Oh yeah, and Sam?"

"What?"

Dean sticks out his hand. "Give me my damn car keys back."

Sam's expression turns incredulous. "Wait, so I'm just supposed to walk four blocks in ninety-degree weather in a suit? Seriously?"

"Baby is a privilege, not an entitlement," Dean snaps, tugging his keys out of Sam's giant mitts. "It's not even that far, man, quit complaining. I'm sure the motel's got AC."

"Fine," Sam grumbles. "But you better make it up to me somehow. And it better be good."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll take that Disneyland trip one of these days, Sammy," Dean says, rolling his eyes.

Ten minutes after Sam has embarked on his four block-long journey, Dean heads to the front to speak with Lucy. She's busy showing a couple to their table, so Dean leans against the hostess stand and waits. Even after talking with Eleanor, Dean still isn't sure why everyone in the restaurant seemed so nonchalant about her passionate—not to mention, loud—display at the hostess's stand. Are the people around here really that mellow and unfazed?

While he waits, he sends a quick text to Sam: About to talk w/ Lucy. Keep up the research & tell me what you find. DW

Can't do research yet, still walking. Might die from heat stroke. SW

Dean's halfway through typing 'you're a drama queen,' when his phone buzzes again.

I swear, if I sweat another drop, I'm gonna pass out. SW

And again.

I can't believe your car has priority over my health. SW

And again.

My gravestone will say: 'hope it was worth it, Dean'. SW

Thankfully, Sam reaches the motel before his pity-party can go on much longer (Yes! The room has AC! SW) and Dean gladly pockets his blissfully silent phone.

Once Lucy finishes seating the customers, she notices him waiting by the podium and immediately rushes over. In one anxious breath, she says, "I saw Ellie leave, did she tell you everything? Do you think you'll be able to help?"

Dean gives her his most disarming smile. "Yeah, we definitely can. But first, I'm gonna need more details. Mind if I ask you some questions?"

She widens her eyes and bobs her head eagerly. "Of course, I'll help in any way I can. Give me a minute to let Karen know that I'm taking off a little early. Be right back!"

…

A little later, Dean's sitting at one of the restaurant's outdoor tables, questioning Lucy.

"So, what is your relationship with Eleanor like?"

Lucy's gaze falls to the table and her cheeks flush. "Well, Ellie and I dated a few years ago, back when we were in college, but we decided it wasn't working and split. We broke up on really good terms, though, and we've been insanely close ever since. She's my best friend."

Dean nods. "Alright. Now, Eleanor already explained what happened to Suzy, so there's no need to recount that, but what I'm wondering is why no one seemed surprised at her—display earlier. Most folks didn't even bat an eye."

At that, a sad, tired look colors her features. "Well, it started a few weeks ago. The kidnappings, I mean. Most of us were just scared, but Ellie…Ellie was convinced that something was stealing the girls. Something, um, unnatural."

Dean straightens up at this new piece of information. "Something unnatural? Eleanor didn't mention anything like that."

Lucy sighs and runs a hand through her messy, blonde hair. "Yeah. Well, I don't blame her for not saying anything. Her theory is exactly why no one in this town takes her seriously anymore. Two weeks ago, she tried to tell the local police what she thought was responsible for the kidnappings, but they just sent her home and warned her not to come back and waste their time. Word got around, and before I knew it, the whole town had her pegged as some kind of raving lunatic. See, something real bad happened to her last year, and most folks figured this whole 'episode' was just her finally losing it."

Interesting. "Two questions: what happened last year, and what did she think was responsible for the kidnappings?"

"Her mother died," Lucy says quietly. "She was the only family Ellie had left. Things got hard for her—real hard. She rarely slept or ate, and the only people she spoke to were me and a few of her neighbors. For months, she immersed herself in books on mythology and all kinds of old religious stuff. I think it comforted her. And, um, as for her theory…she thought—she thought that," Lucy stops and looks Dean straight in the eye. "Agent Smith, before I tell you, please promise me you won't say that she's crazy for thinking this. I've heard it enough to last a lifetime."

Dean nods solemnly. "Promise."

"Okay," Lucy exhales. "Well, Eleanor thought that Venus, the roman Goddess, was kidnapping the girls."

As Dean makes his way into the parking lot, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Sam.

"Did you get any new info?"

"Hi to you too, Sammy. And yeah, I did. What did you find with the research?"

"Well, I found a huge connection between the victims: they were all virgins and under eighteen. Also, not too long ago, there were similar kidnappings a few towns over, which lasted pretty regularly for about a month before stopping entirely. Here, trouble started a few weeks ago, and since whatever it is clearly doesn't intend to stick around, we need to act fast."

Dean tiredly rubs his temples. "Okay, so what do you think this is, man? What's stealing the girls?"

"Dragon maybe?" Sam guesses. "I mean, nabbing virgins is kind of their thing."

Dean is a little reluctant to bring up someone else's idea—mostly because it's probably way off—but he figures it can't hurt. "Well, actually, Lucy told me something that was kind of interesting. See, it turns out Eleanor was holding back when we spoke to her. Apparently she had a theory on what was kidnapping the girls."

"Well, go on, Dean, no need to build suspense."

"Fine. She thought that Venus, the roman goddess, was stealing virgins."

There's a long pause on the other end and Dean wonders if the idea was so ridiculous that it actually rendered Sam speechless. Right when he's about to chuckle and dismiss it, his brother surprises him by saying, "That…might be correct, Dean." Then, more to himself, "How did I not think of that?"

Dean raises his eyebrows, thoroughly impressed that a civilian managed to pinpoint a case so accurately. "There, there, Mr. Stanford Prelaw, don't feel too bad. Apparently this chick was completely obsessed with mythology for the better part of a year, so it's no surprise that she made the connection so quickly."

"Well, kudos to her, because I think she's right," Sam says. "In fact, it actually makes a disturbing amount of sense. A lot of these accounts said that the girls went missing sometime late at night, and although the reports don't specify where the girls were last seen, there's this really shady place called—get this—'Love and Beauty', which is within walking distance of each of their houses. All of them passed it at some point, which means—"

"That there's a goddess holed up in there, grabbing girls right off the sidewalk," Dean finishes. "Got it. So now the only problem is, how do we kill her?"

Sam scoffs at the apparently obvious answer. "With weapons forged in Olympus, of course. That's how you kill Gods." The 'duh' is very heavily implied.

"Swell," Dean chirps. "I'll just stop at the nearest Gas-n-Sip and pick one up! I hear weapons forged on top of Mount-freaking-Olympus are on sale this time of year!"

"Easy with the sarcasm, Dean, your sharp wit is stabbing me through the phone."

"Bitch," Dean grumbles, digging into his pockets for his keys.

"Jerk," Sam replies cheerily. "Now, I'm going to start researching alternate ways to kill the goddess, so why don't you head back to the motel and help out?" As an afterthought, he adds, "Oh, and on your way, could you pick up some granola bars? And grape juice?"

Dean snorts. "What are you? Five?"

Primly, Sam replies, "No, I'm a twenty-five year old man with a serious grape juice craving, alright? And granola bars are good for protein and energy. In fact, the oats and grains in most granola bars are-"

"Dear god," Dean interrupts with a groan. "I did not ask for a lecture on the friggin food pyramid, alright, Sammy? I'll get your damn juice and squirrel food, calm down."

"Good," Sam says, sounding pleased.

With that, Dean tucks his phone back into his pocket and starts the Impala, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the busy road.

"No way," Dean says, sitting up in his chair to stare at Sam. "That's her kryptonite? A freaking kiss?"

They're currently holed up in their ratty little motel room—which, to its credit, isn't the worst that they've seen—while Sam recounts his findings to Dean. Sam, being the genius-researcher that he is (Sam's words, not Dean's), managed to dredge up lore on Venus's 'Achilles heel', which, oddly enough, turned out to be something as innocuous a kiss.

"You're telling me," Dean repeats slowly, "that to kill Venus, all we gotta do is kiss her?Dude, are you on Wikipedia or something?"

Sam scowls, offended that his credibility as a researcher is being questioned. "No, Dean, I'm not on Wikipedia. I found it in one of those roman mythology books, which cross-referenced an old college textbook, and then I double checked my information by looking it up on some very credible sites. Trust me, Dean, it's legit."

Dean furrows his brow, still unable to completely wrap his mind around the concept. "Read me the exact quote."

Sam rifles through the pile of books, before producing one with thick, ancient-looking binding. He searches for the correct page, then plants his index finger on a block of text. "'The great Goddess Venus, dually known as Aphrodite in Greek mythology, is an immortal embodiment and protector of all matters of love, beauty, and fertility, and can only be destroyed by a kiss of ill intention. Only one with the true desire to murder the goddess will prevail.' Then, in another book it references, it says that you need 'a kiss of grim intention and the mortem permanentem incantation' in order to gank her."

"More-tem perma-what?"

"It's Latin. It basically translates into 'the permanent death'. I had to look pretty deep for the incantation itself, but after a few hours, I managed to dig it up. I also found a spell that'll bind her in the meantime, so that she won't, you know, kill us the moment she sees us."

Dean rubs his hands together, eager to get this show on the road. "Alright, Sammy, let's go catch us a goddess!"

When Sam told Dean about the process of killing Venus, Dean was pretty excited; the two of them live in a world where stabbing, burning, and beheading are pretty much the only ways to kill freaky monsters, so it was pretty refreshing to hear that, for once, all he has to do to save the day is make out with a hot chick.

So, you can imagine Dean's disappointment when, ten seconds after completing the goddess's summoning spell, a hideous ogre-witch pops up in the exact spot he was expecting a beautiful woman to appear.

"What the hell?" Dean squawks. The shock is almost enough to make him drop his knife. Then, the troll-beast-witch creature turns to face him, giving Dean a whole eyeful of the goddess in all her hunchbacked glory.

Venus is, in short, horrifying. She vaguely resembles the creepy crossing guard who worked at one of Dean's many elementary schools, only far uglier, about a hundred years older, and reeking very strongly of cabbage. The Goddess's teeth—though Dean is reluctant to refer to her as a goddess, since 'hag' seems to be the more fitting description—are jagged points in varying shades of yellow, all lined up in crooked rows like candy corn. Her head is as bald as a boiled egg, with only a few sparse wisps of hair to conceal the shining grey dome of her scalp. The part of Dean's mind that is not numb with horror, surmises that perhaps at one point in her life—back when dinosaurs wandered, probably—she had decent facial features, as there is the barest hint of beauty hiding beneath her currently hideous exterior. But time has apparently been unkind, because any trace of loveliness is buried miles beneath shriveled lips, cataract eyes, and translucent skin.

She grins and it's ten shades of ghoulish mixed with fifty pounds of freaky as hell. "Now, that's no way to welcome a Goddess, is it?" Her voice is slow and sweet like honey, and Dean can describe it as nothing other than sexy—which makes the whole situation a million times creepier, since that throaty voice is currently spilling from the cracked, twisted lips of a freaking mountain troll.

Sam recovers first, but just barely. "You're Venus?"

She raises a twisted brow, clearly amused. "Yes. I assume the books and paintings have depicted me as slightly more—youthful?"

"A bit, yeah," Sam mutters, around a cough.

"Well, therein lies the problem, darling. You see, that is why I had to kill those pretty little virgins—for their lovely, striking youth." She sighs dreamily. "Oh they were just so bright and beautiful, like roses waiting to be plucked and turned to perfume."

Sam glowers and tightens his grip on the knife.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, dear, it is you faithless humans who have forced this life upon me! I have no followers, nor do many of my brothers and sisters, and because of my lack of godliness, I am forced to endure human nuisances such as age. I am older than one can possibly contemplate and it clearly shows." She sweeps a hand down the lumpy shape of her figure. "But, one little vial of virgin's blood and voila! Young and beautiful once more."

Sam glares at her, his eyes bright with anger. "So that's why you've been killing all those women? For vanity?"

Venus laughs airily. "Darling, do not claim to understand the importance of beauty. We women must go to great lengths in order to achieve perfection, whereas men can dress as sloppy as they please and behave like beasts, and still somehow expect the world to consider them desirable."

Dean finally drags his eyes away from a particularly outstanding boil on the edge of her nose and clears his throat. "Listen up, wicked witch of the west," he snaps, determined to keep his cool despite the overwhelming urge to puke. "I don't need to hear you bitch and moan about how you were hit with the ugly stick, okay? We're here to take care of business and put an end to your freaky, virgin-killing spree, not listen to you complain. This ain't a 'Dear Abby' column."

At Dean's voice, the goddess's eyes light up with intrigue. Immediately, she turns away from Sam and looks at Dean as if she's seeing him for the first time. "You're rather pretty, Dean Winchester," she muses. "Beneath all that masculine gusto, you've got quite delicate features." Her eyes rake appreciatively over his eyes, his mouth. "A big bad hunter with emerald eyes and feminine lips? Apparently, darling, things are not as they seem with you." She smirks. "And I'm sure your internal situation is similar, in that regard."

Dean shifts uncomfortably. He opens his mouth to say something snarky, but she patiently raises her finger to silence him, and for some reason, the words die in his throat.

Venus eyes him appraisingly, as if studying a fine painting. "Not only are you physically lovely, but you smell divine as well."

"Old Spice," Dean supplies drily. "Great stuff."

"No, I don't mean your human smell; all of you hairless apes smell horrid. I am of course referring to the smell of your soul, Dean. It has the smell of someone in love."

Hot, embarrassed blush spreads across his neck. Gruffly, he says, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about." Because he doesn't, okay? However, out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sammy narrowing his eyes in confusion and preparing to open his big mouth and start asking questions, so to cut off that possibility, Dean says, "Either way, you better get a good whiff, Venus, because it won't be long before you're just a pile of ash."

Venus sighs long-sufferingly and glances about the empty warehouse. "So I suppose you've taken the correct measures to trap me here, then?"

"Yup," he says jauntily. "Just a pinch of faerie dust, fool's gold, shredded rose petal, saliva of an infant, and a virgin's left wrist bone. No biggie."

She examines the black crescents of dirt beneath her nails and chuckles. "Mm, yes, that's all grand, but I'm assuming that wrist bone was not fresh?"

Dean fidgets and adjusts his grip on the knife. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. Doesn't matter, the spell didn't specify. It'll still hold you."

Venus just laughs. "Yes, it'll definitely hold me, but for how long? I must say, boys, killing a virgin probably would have been wiser. Who knows how long that shoddy corpse's bone will hold? As pretty as you two darlings are, as soon as this trap breaks, I will kill you without a second thought." She punctuates the statement with a sweet smile that curdles Dean's insides. "Until then, I suppose you've also devised some plot to destroy me? Or—as you so eloquently phrased it, Dean—'turn me to a pile of ash'?"

Sam straightens his shoulders and levels the goddess with a confident look. "Yeah, actually we have. And since you can't move from that spot, it should be pretty easy, too." Nothing grand follows this statement, so she waits a few beats in bored silence, glancing from Dean to Sam and then back at her nails.

Eventually, Sam clears his throat and cuts his eyes at Dean, making a not-so-subtle 'go on' gesture with his knife-free hand.

It then occurs to Dean that he's supposed to kiss her.

On the mouth.

With his mouth.

"No fucking way," he pronounces, shaking his head and backing up. "There's got to be another way, and if there isn't, then you go right ahead and do it your damn self."

"Dean—"

"Don't you 'Dean' me. I'm not doing it, Sam."

"C'mon, dude, really? You've beheaded vamps and practically waded through monster guts, yet you choose this to be squeamish about?"

"We are looking at the same pair of lips, right? The ones that resemble dehydrated apricots? Fuck no."

Venus watches the exchange with amusement. "You Winchesters sure do know how to flatter a girl." She looks to Dean and smirks. "Tell you what, sugar, if you act real gentlemanly I won't use tongue."

In response, Dean's entire body cringes back in repulsion. Yeah—that's it, there's no fucking way he's putting his mouth anywhere near the vicinity of hers. Sam can go right to hell.

"Dean, we need to kill her. You have to do this."

"No, you kiss her and I'll read the incantation."

"You don't even know it! It has to be read in the correct cadence otherwise it won't work," Sam insists. And unlike at the restaurant, he can tell Sam is telling the truth.

"Maybe you should be the one to kiss me, Sam," she suggests innocently. "Being that Dean's heart is already taken and all."

That same spike of white-hot embarrassment makes its way up his spine like an electric jolt. He's so eager for Venus to just shut the hell up that kissing her suddenly doesn't seem so bad. "Get that damned spell book out," he says to Sam. "I'm going in."

Venus chuckles as he makes his way over to her. "Dean, love, I must warn you, kissing me has some interesting side-effects that your little book may have failed to mention."

He swallows. "Like?"

She grins, putting her crumbling, yellow teeth on full display. "I'm not sure, hot stuff, it's been centuries since someone's attempted it. We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

He pauses and clenches his fists at his sides, resolution wavering. "Sammy," he barks, without taking his eyes from the goddess. "What the hell's she talking about?"

Dean can't tell because he isn't looking, but he's willing to bet half of his nonexistent life savings that Sam is blinking and fidgeting nervously right now. "I don't know, man. The, uh, lore on Venus was kinda vague. I'm pretty sure you'll be fine though!" he finishes optimistically.

"Pretty sure?" Dean cries, tearing his eyes away from Venus to gawk at his brother. "Gee, Sammy, well now that you're pretty sure this'll work, I guess I'm totally up for risking my ass!"

"Dean—"

"Just…just tell me that you at least read every possible thing you could. Hell, man, fake confidence if you have to." Because, yeah, Dean would rather eat his shoe than lock lips with the creature from the black lagoon, but shit needs to get done and since Sam has to read the stupid spell, it looks like this one is resting entirely on Dean's shoulders.

"Dude I scoured every nook and cranny for info on her, okay? I'm almost certain she's just bluffing."

Venus, meanwhile, has her chin cupped in her hand, wearing an expression Dean can only call 'smug as motherfucking hell'. "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Who knows, hon? I will say, though, I'm quite eager to see what that hot little mouth of yours tastes like." Then, she licks her chapped, twisted lips and makes a noise in the back of her throat that Dean thinks might be a purr.

"Sam, you're going to owe me for years to come," he chokes out, as he takes a few wooden steps forward. "Years."

"Got it," Sam promises, holding the book open. "The chant's ready when you are, Dean."

"I don't bite," Venus says innocently, then smirks and cocks her head. "Unless of course you're into that…"

Dean gulps down his nausea and steps even closer. Think of pretty girls, girls without moles, girls with white teeth and full heads of hair…

Dean's last thought is something along the lines of 'fuck Sam, fuck this curse, fuck Venus' and then without further ado, he presses his mouth fully against the goddess's.

He has the chance to notice the smirking curve of her upper lip and decide that shit is about to go horribly wrong, before something pinches between his shoulder blades and bright red lights flood the backs of his eyelids. He can hear Sam shouting his name and the Goddess laughing, but there's no time to pinpoint exactly what the hell is going on, because in the next moment, a blinding shaft of light swallows the room and unconsciousness quickly claims him.

A/N: Thanks for reading, everyone! I'd love to hear what you think, feedback and comments are food for my writer soul :)