FIRST SUPERNATURAL FIC. Please be kind, I worked long hours on this. Please review, it makes me happy.

I love you guys. the little breaks are where Dean is thinking to himself, kind of.

Enjoy.

I don't know what made me do it. Probably something along the lines of my needing help but being too proud to ask for it. Bobby was tangled up at the moment and I really didn't want to bother dad with something this small. He was busy in Seattle at the moment anyway.

I wonder how he's sleeping.

Anyway, forget the why. All we need to think about is the fact that right then, I was standing outside a restaurant with a team of federal agents inside, and that is never a good thing to do when you have a ton of credit card fraud counts under your belt.

But I needed a little help, and I'll be damned if I let my fear of getting arrested stop me.

Tony laughed casually and jerked his head slightly to the left.

"Hey, boss." He said, still grinning. Gibbs nodded.

"I see him." He said. The man was just standing there, watching them from afar.

"He has short brown hair, is approximately six feet tall, and, if I had to guess, I'd say about twenty years old, give or take." Ziva said, jumping into the conversation. The rest of the team quickly focused their attention on the conversation. She described him from little glances in his direction.

"Wonder who he is." Tony mused.

"I'd like to know why he's watching us." McGee put in.

"Why don't we just go ask him?" Abby grinned.

"He might run." Ducky theorized.

"He's gone now." Ziva told them. Sure enough, the man had disappeared.

"But his car isn't." Tony said. In the parking lot, the 1967 Chevy Impala still sat in the lot, its shiny black paint sparkling in the sun.

"Now that, is a nice car." Tony said appreciatively.

"Thanks." A voice spoke up nearby. They all looked in the direction of the voice and saw the man who had been watching them standing not ten feet away. He was wearing faded blue jeans that looked worn down from hard labor, and a black Metallica tee-shirt with a worn leather jacket and motorcycle boots. His appearance gave them the impression that he did a lot of hard work for only a little bit of money. His short-cropped light brown hair glinted with little blonde streaks in the afternoon sun. His bright green eyes were cautious and hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he should be talking to them. He had dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept in a while.

He was certainly young, practically a kid, but seemed older because of the confidant aura he gave off. He was fit, well-muscled (his arms and chest were rippling underneath of his jacket), and looked like he might run at any moment. Abby could see just how uncomfortable he was, although he was trying to hide it with a cocky smile and confidant attitude. He was a tough guy, and tough guys don't get scared.

Abby was exceptional at reading people. This guy, however, was hard even for her. He was worried about someone, but not excessively so. It could be compared to how a father always worries about his son. She was also good at being able to tell how big someone's heart was, and this guy had a huge heart. She could see it in his eyes. The smile and attitude, they were just a mask. They were his protection from the world.

"What's your name?" She asked, trying to break the ice. He looked at her skeptically, like he didn't believe anyone would want to know his name.

He looked at the woman sitting in front of him. She had asked his name, and now he was blanking on the fake name he had planned on giving. She was very odd looking and he freaking hunted monsters for a living. She had jet black hair that was pulled up into pigtails. Her nails were painted black and she had multiple tattoos. She was extremely Goth looking, but she smiled brightly at him.

A happy Goth. What is the world coming to? He thought.

"Dean." Great now he had given away his real name to these feds.

"Dean." He said. Abby was a little surprised he had said anything.

"You got a last name?" Abby asked.

"It's not necessary." He said shortly. Abby thought about that for a second.

"She really is a beauty." Abby nodded to the Impala. She stood up and held out her hand. "Abby Scutio."

Dean surveyed her a bit before holding out his hand as well. He grasped her hand and shook it. She gripped his hand tightly. She had a strong grip and grinned when she shook hands. His hand was rough and calloused where hers was soft and smooth.

"She's my baby." He said, grinning like that explained everything.

"So, why were you watching us?" She asked, letting go of his hand. Dean looked over her again, as if he was deciding whether or not to really trust her. His posture still gave off the impression of a scared animal. If they said the wrong thing, he would run and they would never see him again. He sighed.

"I need a little help." He said, eyeing each of them carefully. "Tomorrow, someone's gonna die. I've been tracking the killer, but I'm at a bit of a standstill." Abby couldn't keep her jaw from dropping.

"You've been tracking a killer?" She asked.

"Mhm." He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "All the way from Union City, Tennessee." He said, his voice drawling a bit. Abby suddenly couldn't help but ask.

"Where are you from?" He looked confused for a second. "Sorry, just your accent-"

"Kansas." He interrupted her stuttering.

"Cool!" She laughed. "But, um, how do you know someone's going to die tomorrow?"

"That's when it kills. During the full moon. In a park. And it always rips the heart out." He said nonchalantly. "He's got a pattern."

"It?" Tony entered the conversation. "You said it."

Damn, he had, hadn't he? Dean kicked himself mentally for that.

"Don't know for sure it's a he." He covered easily. God, he was gonna have to be on his feet the entire time around these feds.

"And you didn't even try to follow up of finding out who he is?" Tony asked. "You just went after him?"

"Um, yeah." Dean said, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Sounds like you, Tony." McGee snickered.
"No he doesn't. I would never do that." Tony scoffed. He looked at dean and the two men made eye contact. Chocolate brown eyes met forest green orbs that glowed with an understanding of everything around them. Tony had no idea how this young guy could possibly have seen so much of the world that he understood what Tony hadn't even said aloud.

"'We are men of action, lies do not become us.'" Dean quoted, saying just what Tony had been thinking. Tony laughed and stood up. He walked up to Dean and held out his hand.

"Dinozzo, Tony Dinozzo." He said, looking at the tall, broad-shouldered man in front of him.

"Nice to meet you, Connery." Dean grinned shaking Tony's hand.

"There are two of them." Ziva sighed shaking her head. Dean and Tony laughed together at that. Dean had a pleasant laugh, one that told Abby that he didn't laugh enough.

"So where do we come in?" Gibbs asked.

Damn his voice reminded him of Dad. He must have been a marine too, Dean though.

"Well, sir, you're there for legal purposes." Dean said. "I'm not law enforcement, I'm freelance."
Gibbs looked at him, clearly amused. Damn he's even got that skeptic look too.

"You're a private investigator?" Abby asked. Dean winced at that, albeit good naturedly.

"No, a freelance investigator. I don't do trench coats. And I never promised to be private." He gave them all a wicked grin at that and Tony laughed. Dean was certainly charming.

"So tell me," Tony started with a grin. "How's the pay?"

"The pay sucks but the benefits are awesome." Dean shrugged, grinning back.
"What benefits?" McGee asked.

"Chicks dig a guy with a gun and a cool car." He said, laughing at Tim's expression.

"Never a lonely night, huh?" Abby joked. Dean's smile became a little forced at that point, and then disappeared altogether.

"Never said that." He shrugged, looking down. "Just cause you aren't alone doesn't mean you can't be lonely." There was a sad look in his eyes when he looked up, but he quickly blinked and pushed it away.
"Who do you miss?" Abby asked gently. He was caught off guard with that question, but quickly recovered. Her comforting smile urged him to share.
"My little brother, Sammy." He said. "He isn't dead or anything, but I haven't seen him in a while. He's busy out at Stanford living a real life." He sighed.

"A real life?" Abby asked. "Aren't all lives real?" She gave him a look.

"Yeah, see things weren't the easiest growing up, and it was especially hard on Sam. Dad was away a lot working and we were always moving around every couple of weeks. I had to take care of Sammy a lot. I raised the kid since he was six months old. He once said that I've been more of a father to him than dad was. Now he's got a job and a girlfriend and he's gonna make something of himself. Besides, he's got friends now. We never really had any as kids cause we always moved. It was easier to just be invisible." He shook his head as if clearing it out. He looked into the parking lot as if searching for someone that none of them could see. "He and Dad didn't get along too well after Sammy started asking all kinds of questions. He's probably better off without me or Dad; I never did anything but let him down anyway." After saying that, Dean looked like he could use a hug, so Abby happily obliged. She felt his entire body tense at the sudden contact, but he quickly relaxed and hugged her back. She felt his strong arms wrap around her back. She could smell that he didn't wear cologne, but he did smell of gun smoke, leather, motor oil, and Jack Daniels. He smelled like a southern man.

From what she could tell, there wasn't an ounce of fat on his body; he was all muscle. When she let him go, she saw words in his eyes that he couldn't say aloud. Thank you.

"So how often do you work out?" She joked, poking his rock hard abs.

"Often as I can. Can't have a guy getting the drop on me in a fight cause I decided to have that extra donut." He laughed.

"Where do you want us to meet you tonight?" Ziva asked, getting back to business again.
"You come to the edge of the trees and I'll find ya." He said smoothly. He winked at Abby and slipped into a throng of people and effectively disappeared. They looked into the parking lot to see his car, but when they looked at where it should have been, I had also disappeared.

"Sonovagun." Gibbs chuckled.

That night, as they were standing at the edge of the trees, they were completely unaware of someone creeping up behind them. It was around eleven o'clock and they were expecting Dean any minute. The agents that had come were Tony, Gibbs, Ziva, and McGee. The figure walked softly, not making a sound. He was wearing dark clothes and blended in with the shadows well.

"Where is he?" Ziva demanded.
"Waiting for you." A voice behind them spoke. All four agents spun around quickly to find their bowlegged friend from Kansas standing behind them with a grin on his face. One look at their startled faces had his grin widening.

"Did I scare you? Sorry." His tone suggested that he was not really sorry at all. Gibbs reached over and head-slapped him.

"You and Tony could be brothers." He growled.

"Except I'm stealthier." Dean said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"He has a point." Ziva said. "I am not easy to sneak up on and I did not know he was there."

"Well I gotta be stealthy. Especially on a case like this one. Follow me." He said, becoming serious. He gave a slight nod towards the direction he came from and started walking. The team noticed the shotgun held easily in his hand as they walked. They followed him into a small clearing surrounding a jogging path. He seemed alert for even the slightest sounds or movements. He brought them to the edge of the trees and told them where to hide.

"Where will you be?" Gibbs asked.

"Me?" Dean grinned. "I'm the bait." And with that he whirled off into the shadows, disappearing from sight.

"He is very good at that disappearing act." Ziva observed. They fell into silence, tensed and ready. After a few more minutes, Dean reappeared, strolling down the path whistling ACDC's "Shoot to Kill". Suddenly, a man with a big-ass knife jumped out at him. Dean just looked at him like he was wearing a bunny costume.

"So," He drawled. "You're the son of a bitch who's been tearing out people's throats. You know that vital to breathing right?" He lifted his eyebrow.

"Yeah well, you're next!" The guy had a very high pitched voice, and it was an almost theatrical snarl. He jumped at Dean, who let himself be tackled to the dirt. Dean then used his momentum to roll both the guy and himself so that Dean was now leaning over the smaller man. He pinned the man's arms down on the ground. The man was struggling but getting nowhere facing the muscular Kansas native.

Until he got a lucky shot in. He brought his knee up and into a very tender area, causing Dean to fall over. Dean used all of his will power not to cry out as the bony knee connected with flesh. He recovered quickly though and, just as the guy grabbed his knife and was running away, Dean threw his arm around the smaller man's neck and put him in a sleeper hold. He still struggled, but Dean increased pressure and the man soon passed out. Dean dropped him in a crumpled heap and let loose a moan as he bent over. He stood up again as the agents came out. The fight had only lasted a matter of seconds, and no one had taken a shot for fear of hitting Dean.

"Nice hold, where'd you learn it?" Gibbs asked. The former Marine knew exactly where Dean had learned it; he just didn't think the kid was old enough to have been in the armed forces and out already.

"My dad was a Marine." Dean said. "He trained me how to fight."
"How old were you when you started training with him?" Ziva asked, wondering if he'd been anywhere near the age that she had been. Dean was silent for a minute, looking off into the shadows created by the trees and silver moonlight.

"I was six." He said softly. "He was away a lot and he wanted me to take care of Sammy. He taught me to fight so that I could protect him." Gibbs noticed that he didn't say anything about protecting himself. "Whenever he was around though, he was training me to do stuff that no six year-old should ever have to know how to do." Dean was thoughtful for a minute before saying something that surprised all of them.
"He taught me how do dig myself out of a grave."
"How did he teach that?" Tony asked.

"By burying me alive." Dean said. He looked at Gibbs and Jethro could see the desperation in his eyes, the willingness to do anything to please his father.

"He raised you like a soldier." Ziva stated, seeing the look in his eyes too. Dean's sparking emerald eyes landed on her dark brown eyes.
"Yes." He said simply. He closed his eyes and took a breath and, when he looked at them again, his mask was firmly in place. The tough guy exterior was back with a cool smile and cocky disposition.
"I'll leave him in your hands then." He shrugged, picking up his discarded shotgun. With one last grin, he turned and slipped into the shadows, disappearing for a final time that night. The team stared after him, none of them moving an inch, until Gibbs cuffed the guy on the ground. They listened until, about ten minutes later, the silence surrounding them was broken by the rumble of the '67 Chevy Impala's engine. The steady growl faded to a soft purr before vanishing into the night.

"You know," Tony said, breaking the silence again. "I bet he's a real great guy, but he doesn't want anyone to know."
"Yeah," McGee joined in. "I mean, he wouldn't befriend us exactly, but I think he's one of those guys that feels like he has to protect all of his friends, so he tries not to make friends."

"His protectiveness of his brother gives this credit." Ziva agreed.

"I think he doesn't feel like he deserves friends." Tony said softly.

"How do you know?" McGee asked.

"I've got a gut feeling about it. He strikes me as the kind of guy who feels like he gets what he deserves and nothing more nothing less."

The next day, Abby found herself waiting outside behind the NCIS building. She heard a now-familiar growl and spun around to see a sleek black (very badass) '67 Chevy Impala drive up behind her. The car parked and the engine was silenced as a muscular young man slid out of the front seat. He grinned at her.

"I see you got my note." He said.

"I didn't know you were a pick-pocket." She laughed.

"I am a man of many talents." He shrugged. Before leaving last night he had slipped a note into Gibbs' pocket and the older man had found it after getting home. Abby threw her arms around Dean's neck and hugged him close. He returned the hug, enveloping her in his warmth and the scent of gun-smoke. She gave him a peck on the cheek after letting go, causing him to blush and duck his head. He gave the impression that he was a ladies man, but Abby could see right through it.

"I knew you wouldn't leave without saying goodbye." She said.

"Normally I would, but I wanted to thank you and your team." His deep voice drawled.

"Not a problem. Anything to get a killer off the streets." She waved her hand.

"In any case, thank you." He nodded to her. "But I want you to promise me somethin'" He said.

"What?" She asked.

"Don't look for me. Don't ever try to find me." He said, his green eyes begging her to agree to his request.

"How can I look for you when I don't even know your last name?" She asked, giving him a sad smile.

"I'm sure you'd find a way." He said, returning her smile with even more sadness.

"I need your word." He said.

"One condition." She held up her index finger. He said nothing but lifted one eyebrow in a questioning gaze. She pulled out a camera.

"I want a picture with you." She grinned.

"Okay, fine." He laughed. She leaned in close and took the picture.

He says goodbye and they she doesn't speak to him again. Abby keeps her promise and doesn't look for him. She doesn't try to find him, nor does she try to find out who he was. She sees him again though. Every so often, if she turns her head fast enough she'll see a tall man with an old leather jacket and worn jeans and motorcycle boots. She only sees glimpses, but she knows he's not a threat-or not a threat to her anyway. He doesn't approach her, and she doesn't call him out on it. She knows he's only looking out for her. She feels safe for a week whenever she catches a glimpse of a sleek black Chevy or when she catches the scent on gun-smoke and motor oil together. Even though she's never seen this man's face, she knows it's Dean. Keeping the promise he had never spoken aloud.

As for the picture, it sits on her crowded desk. It's surrounded by other pictures of her and her friends, but this one is the only solid thing that she had to remember him by. In this picture she has her eyes closed and she's sticking her tongue out with a smile. The man standing beside her is laughing at her expression. His bright green eyes are watching her and sparkling in the afternoon sun. He's happy here, and she hopes he stayed somewhat happy although she knows he probably didn't. If anyone asks her who he is, she always says the same thing: he is her brother, one not related to her by blood but rather by their kindred spirits. She knows he's out there, and she's waiting for him to come back again.

FIN (For now)