THE FAMILY BUSINESS: SIXTEEN

Summary: Hermione's peaceful, yet boring life is disrupted when notorious hunter, Dean Winchester, walks into her book shop. Dean's life is completely changed when he meets, Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of her Age. But maybe that's just what they both needed. A series of one-shots based on their lives together. Mostly Dean's POV. Rated M for a reason.

Disclaimer: I do not own canon events and characters, they belong to J.K Rowling and the creators of Supernatural. I am not making a profit from writing and posting this fanfic.

Trigger warning for violence/ mentions of domestic abuse.

AN

You guys are the best! I in no way intended for this chapter to be so long and by the time I saw the word count, I realised I hadn't even covered half of what I wanted to so that will all have to wait until the next chapter, I suppose, so I can give you this one.

So glad you loved Jon's reaction and the Weasley Christmas, too. It was a pain in the arse to write.

Q&A

BlackRoseargh – Thank you so much! I've got to admit, Hermione's relationship with food is my relationship with food.

RJLupin fan – Welcome! And thank you so much! I'm not much of a DC girl, admittedly preferring MCU. I do take requests and I love writing unusual pairings, but I can't guarantee when I'll get to them. Which Clark Kent were you thinking? Henry Cavill from the movies (I haven't seen) or Tom Welling from Smallville (which I have). As I said, I can't guarantee anything but I can a little play around and see what I can come up with.

Page count: 22

One week later...

"Oh look, Honey, this place has a pool," Hermione said joyfully, all but skipping her way towards their motel room. "And one we definitely won't be using."

Dean snorted and shared an amused glance with Sam who rolled his eyes, readjusting his grip on his duffle bag before he slipped his other hand into his pocket.

"But, if this place has a pool, there's a good chance it's a little more upscale than we're used to, so there's a possibility of us not walking into a room with blood-stained carpets, bedbugs or the lingering scent of vomit."

"She's not going to let that go, is she?" Sam asked amusedly.

"No, I don't think so," he replied.

"I heard that!" Hermione called, pausing in her steps to send them an annoyed glance over her shoulder before she continued walking, leading the way.

"It was one time, Baby," Dean said. "How was I to know there'd been a murder thirty years ago, neither of us was even born then."

"Looking into things like that is what we do. I don't care that a murder took place in the motel, I care that it happened in our room, because, why wouldn't it? We deal with this stuff for a living, the last thing I want is to wake up in the middle of the night to see a vengeful spirit hovering over me with a knife in hand, especially when it's my weekend off."

Dean rolled his eyes but didn't comment, watching as Hermione stopped before a red door, pulled the key card out of her pocket and punched it into the slot, twisting the handle but not opening the door. He shared a glance with Sam before his eyes darted back to Hermione, seeing her slotting the key card back into her pocket before she crossed her fingers and screwed her eyes shut.

"Please be murder-free, please be murder-free," she chanted before she poked her tongue out her mouth and then pushed the door open with a shove of her hip. Comically, she peeked open one eye and poked her head inside. "Oh God, thank you!" She cried, her posture relaxing before she darted inside. "We have an oven. A pool, a key card and an oven? We are never leaving!"

Dean snorted and shook his head.

"She's your girlfriend," Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"Yeah," he grinned. "And if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sweet-talk her out of her clothes."

Sam rolled his eyes before shoving him towards his motel room and then he used the key card to access his own room before stepping inside. Snorting to himself, Dean stepped inside and closed the door behind him, seeing Sadie and Crookshanks already being curled up on the bed and Hermione with an array of ingredients set up on the table.

"What're you making?" He asked her.

"I've some veg than needs using before it goes out of date and the spells are starting to wear off. So, I'm thinking sausage casserole with boiled potatoes and for dessert, apple crumble and custard, something quick and simple."

"Sounds good," he replied, coming up behind her, his arms folding around her stomach as he rested his chin on her shoulder, watching as a spell chopped the vegetables and she peeled the potatoes with a knife.

It still amazed him how comforting he found this. The life they lived was far from normal but Hermione still found a way to make it domesticated. They were never in the same place for more than a week or two depending on the difficulty of the case, they were always on the road and they lived a life of danger. And yet, he had a stable and happy relationship, they had pets and Hermione took every opportunity she had to make a home-cooked meal. Not to mention, she included him and his family in her family's traditions, their Christmas getaway had been one of the best experiences of his life; there'd been no danger or death or threats, only laughter and happiness and children and pets demanding his attention every five minutes.

Unfortunately for Hermione, George had found the Hangover Potion he'd hidden in his pocket, as well as the extra one he'd slipped into Sam's pocket, too, and Hermione had woken the day after Christmas with a monstrous hangover that was felt by everyone. Not only because she was terrifying in her hungover state, but because they'd been hungover themselves. It seemed it was only the Winchesters and George who had escaped such a fate, the former three being careful with how much alcohol they consumed and the latter having taken his own potion.

For the majority of the day, whilst the adults were nursing a hangover, the Winchesters and George had been tasked with taking care of their other halves as well as the children, something Dean and Sam had found hilarious when their father was so clearly uncomfortable around the magical children.

It wasn't until later that night after Hermione appeared to have gotten over the majority of her hangover when she was finally able-bodied enough to apparate them back to their hotel, the witch soon climbing into bed and burying herself beneath the covers until the next morning. It was obvious she was mildly impressed that she hadn't scared him away with her temper but he wouldn't admit that she was actually quite frightening and he'd been tempted to run and hide with the children but he'd soon squashed it down and did his best to be the doting boyfriend his terrifyingly hungover girlfriend needed.

The rest of their time in London had been split between spending time with Hermione's family at the Burrow and wandering the tourist sites in Muggle London before returning to the States New Years Eve, quickly getting back to business the following day, which is how they found themselves in Burley, Idaho.

"You alright?"

"Hmmm, fine, why?" He muttered.

She shrugged her shoulder, the one he wasn't using as a chinrest. "You just seem quieter than usual, and if I'm honest, you've been like this for days."

"I'm just hoping that all of this will be over soon. It's exhausting having to be the mediator all the time."

"I get it," she nodded, "Whenever Harry and Ron had a falling out I was always stuck in the middle."

"It's not just him, it's everything. It's been twenty-two years, this demon is the reason my dad's so fucked in the head, why we had the childhood we did and why we lead the life we do. It didn't just take my mom, it took our lives."

"If you can get me your dad's research, I'll go through it with Sam and see if we can find anything he missed."

"He's adamant you won't find anything."

"That's 'cause he's an arsehole and he doesn't want to be proven wrong by me, a witch. It's killing him that you're with me, that something so big was kept from him and that he doesn't know everything there possibly is to know about the other worlds out there. His pride's wounded, he'll get over it eventually."

"He better or he'll find himself staring down the barrel of my gun."

She snorted. "Where is your dad, anyway? When I came back from the check-in desk both he and the car were gone."

"He said he wanted to do a bit of digging into the case."

"We've only just got here and it's already late evening," she pointed out. "Everywhere but food establishments will be closed."

"Take it up with him, not me," he shrugged.

"I'd rather not, I'll likely hex him."

"I don't mind."

She snorted. "Of course you don't," she shook her head. "Well, I'm going to hop in the shower, would you mind putting the veg into the pot on the stove on medium heat?"

"Or I could join you," he suggested.

She laughed. "You could," she agreed, "But only if you put the veg in the pot for me." She looked at him over her shoulder and reached up, pressing a kiss to his cheek before she pulled herself free of his hold, banished the potato peelings and then headed for the bathroom.

~000~000~000~

"Bitch!"

"Arsehole!"

"Demon!"

"Wanker!"

"Witch!"

"That's not an insult, moron!"

"Idiot!"

"Prat!"

"Enough!" Dean called, sending a glare over his shoulder to his father before turning his eyes back to the road. "I'm tired of you fighting all the time, stop it! We have other things to worry about other than your dislike of each other. I swear, if either one of you makes another comment or sly dig at the other, I'll throw you both out the car and leave you to fend for yourselves."

"Damn," Sam muttered in surprise, shaking his head and glancing at Dean as though he didn't even know who he was.

"She started it," his father said childishly.

"I don't care who started it, I'm ending it!" Dean griped, pinning his father with an annoyed glare, their eyes locking in the rear-view mirror.

When his father looked over to stare out of the window, Dean held his out hand out to Hermione expectantly, the witch subtly high-fiving him as she grinned at him and Dean allowed his mouth to twitch into a smirk as he brought his hand back to the steering wheel, hearing Sam cover his laughter with a cough.

So that might've been for show; Dean was always on Hermione's side but he couldn't make it appear that way.

~000~000~000~

Two days later...

"HERMIONE!" Dean called out in worry, his eyes scanning his expansive surroundings in search of her.

They'd been dealing with a violent spirit, one they'd tracked to an abounded lake house in the middle of nowhere, one that had claimed two dozen lives in only eight years, all the deaths seemingly unconnected as the causes were more often than not different, but it was Hermione and Sam who'd put their giant brains together and discovered that they weren't seemingly random after all. Each victim had been in a relationship (some known and some not) with an African-America partner. Not only were they dealing with a violent spirit, but a racist one, too. Fabulous.

"Dean?" Sam asked in confusion.

Dean spun around to see Sam approaching, looking a little worse for wear but otherwise fine as he brushed his hair out of his face and slipped his gun back into the waistband of his jeans. Despite there only being one spirit, it had taken all four of them to destroy it and it hadn't been easy.

"I can't find Hermione," he said, his panic evident as Sam darted his own gaze around them before landing on their father, approaching them.

"Where's Hermione?"

His father rolled his eyes. "I haven't done anything to her," he held his hands up in surrender. "I haven't seen her since she was thrown out the window. Never seen a woman so mad," he said amusedly.

"What window?" Dean asked quickly.

"The one facing the lake," he shrugged.

"Fuck!" Dean cursed, darting off towards the lake so quickly he almost tripped over his own feet and hearing Sam hot on his tail.

He'd already thrown his leather jacket to the ground by the time he'd reached the bank of the lake and he dived in, the freezing January water chilling him to bone but he refused to allow it to distract him. As he came up for air, he heard a splash before Sam's head surfaced a little ways from him.

"I'll take the right," he called over before he took a deep inhale and then disappeared beneath the water.

Dean was quick to follow his example, searching for Hermione the best he could but seeing nothing other than darkness and when his lungs burned he had to resurface, Sam doing so after him and being further away than he had been before.

"I can't see her, it's too dark!" Sam called. "But I've found her wand!" He held the wooden stick above his head as proof.

Dean's panic only doubled. Not only could Hermione not swim, she was without her wand to help her survive for as long as possible and she'd been thrown through a window, if she'd banged her head, she could be unconscious. He had to find her.

"Dad! Hermione can't swim!" Sam yelled but Dean didn't wait for a response as he dived back underwater, swimming a little further down towards the lake bed in case she'd gotten caught in any of the junk or debris and was struggling to free herself. But he couldn't find her.

He stayed under the water for as long as he possibly could, until his lungs burned, his eyes stung and his head went a little fuzzy before he swam to the surface, gasping for air and looking around him, his eyes widening as he saw Sam and his father both soaked from head to toe, kneeling down on the bank with his father performing CPR on the third figure that lay lifeless on the cold ground.

He barely registered swimming to the bank, climbing from the water and kneeling by Hermione's head, her skin almost seemed to have a blue hue to it, her hair matted with dirt and the only movement of her chest being the CPR compressions. His hands ground into the cold dirt beneath him, barely registering the wind worsening the shivers wracking his body or the tears blurring his sight, unsure if it were from fear, panic, anger or the sting from the lake water.

"Hermione, please... Baby... Don't leave me..." He begged, nausea swarming his stomach, his heart pounding in his chest and thumping in his ears.

He couldn't take his eyes from her even when his father paused with the compressions to tilt her head back and pinch her nose, administering two breaths of air before restarting the compressions, counting each compression with a mumble.

"No...No... Baby..."

He felt his whole world crashing down around him, the pain in his chest magnifying with each second that passed. She'd promised him she wouldn't leave him. She'd promised! His vision swam and he felt himself swaying and he would've hit the ground if it weren't for Sam automatically reaching out to steady him, but he couldn't take his eyes from her.

"I can't lose her... It'll kill me... Please..."

His father paused the compressions once more, giving two rescue breaths before continuing. Dean could see his father visibly tiring, having no idea how long he'd actually been performing CPR given he'd resurfaced after he'd started.

It'd been too long. He felt it in his gut. If they didn't get her back soon she'd be officially dead or brain dead, either way, he'd lost her. He briefly noted Sam shifting, preparing to take over from his tiring father and then suddenly, it happened.

Hermione's body gave a sudden lurched forward, rolling onto her side as she coughed and gasped, water spluttering from her mouth and coating the floor. He'd barely allowed her to catch her breath when he released a cry of relief and pulled her into his arms, holding her against him and off the cold ground, her body shaking in his hold as he buried his face in her hair.

"Fuck, you scared the shit out of me," he breathed against her skin, his nose skimming her forehead. "I swear to God himself, I'm teaching you how to swim, no arguments."

Feeling a hand on his shoulder, Dean pulled his face back from Hermione and looked to Sam, his expression one of relief, and then he turned his eyes to his father, clenching his jaw for a moment before releasing a sigh.

"That's how you earn my forgiveness."

His father's eyes widened in surprise and then without saying anything further, he shifted Hermione in his hold before rising to his feet and walking off, leaving behind the lake and woods as he headed for the Impala.

~000~000~000~

Three days later...

"Bobby, you're sure?"

"I wouldn't be calling if I wasn't," Bobby replied gruffly. "Are ya gonna do something about it?"

"Yeah," he replied, lifting his wrist and glancing down at his watch. "Hermione'll be asleep for a few more hours, probably longer, just 'cause the Sleeping Potion's wore off doesn't mean she'll wake right away. It should give me enough time to do what I need to do."

"Just be careful," Bobby warned. "How's my girl doing?"

"Better," Dean answered, standing from the table and walking over to the bed, reaching out to push her wild hair away from her face, feeling her temperature being a little higher than normal but decided not to worry. Not only was she sleeping under a quilt and throw cover, she was surrounded by three sleeping balls of fur, too. She was bound to be warm. "It's been a few days and she's finally all healed up, it's just the nightmares we're dealing with at the moment. We're planning on getting back on the road either tomorrow or the day after, I just want her to get some rest. We need her on top form."

"I owe your dad a beer," Bobby replied. "You're good for her, ya know?"

"What?" He frowned in confusion, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and petting Sadie on the head when she shifted in her sleep, meowing quietly as she pushed her head against his palm affectionately.

"Missy, you're good for her. You're forgetting, I've known her longer than you. I saw what she was like when she left England and when she came by for a visit, and though it was clear she was getting better, it wasn't until she met you that she was happy. Something I know she hadn't been in a long time."

"Well, the feeling's mutual, Bobby," Dean confessed. "Meeting her's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I honestly don't know what I would've done if I'd lost her."

Bobby snorted. "She's turned you soft."

"She has not!" Dean protested.

Bobby gruff laugh sounded on the other end. "She has and don't even try to deny it. Your dad told me about the pink face masks and manicures."

Dean scowled. "Don't be a hypocrite; Hermione's told me you like tea tree and mint mask, it's your favourite."

"I'm gonna kill her," Bobby muttered darkly.

Dean's mouth tugged into a smug smirk. "Yeah, she tells me everything. I can't believe you turned down a Christmas dinner in favour of leftover takeout, beer and The X-Files."

"Call me crazy for wanting a quiet Christmas without snot-nose rugrats destroying my peace and quiet. And there's nothing wrong with leftover takeout and watching The X-Files, it's a classic. Besides, you never know, there could be some truth behind it all."

"If you say so," Dean replied amusedly. "And I'll have you know, the kids in Hermione's family aren't snot-nose rugrats, they're fire-starting witchlings."

"'Cause that's so much better," Bobby deadpanned.

Dean snorted. "I don't know, Bobby, I'd bet that the moment you set eyes on the Little Lady known as Lily Potter, your old, cold heart would melt."

"Who're ya calling old!?" Bobby said in outrage. Dean bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. "I swear, the next time I see you, you'd better be wearing a bullet-proof vest 'cause you're gonna need it."

"I'll see if Hermione can get her hands on one, she's frighteningly resourceful," Dean rolled his eyes before looking down at his sleeping witch fondly. "Anyway, Hermione took your refusal to join us for Christmas as a one time only deal and she has every intention of forcing you to join us next year."

"I'd like to see her try," Bobby scoffed.

"So would I," Dean agreed, knowing it would be hilarious for anyone who was observing; their arguments always were.

"I better go, Ghost Whisper's about to start, I'll send you everything I have."

As Bobby ended the call, Dean shook his head and laughed at the older hunter before his eyes fell back to his sleeping witch.

She'd barely left the bed for three days, if only to use the bathroom and grab a quick shower. After she'd been resuscitated and he'd taken her back to the Impala, he sat with her in the backseat, her body violently shaking against him as Sam made the thankfully not too long drive back to the motel and Dean had been quick to set her down on the bed, cover her in blankets and then draw her a bath, not caring for his own shivers or wet clothing.

After her bath, he'd helped her to dress before putting her straight to bed, only taking a quick shower and changing into dry clothing after she'd begged him to. His father and Sam made an appearance not long after, both having showered and dressed in clean, dry clothing, too, before Sam set to work looking over Hermione's injuries and she'd had more than they'd previously realised.

She had a cut on her forearm from a knife and several on her body from shattered glass after being thrown through a window, and after Hermione had been strong enough to cast magic, she'd discovered she had several broken ribs from the CPR and a sprained ankle, too, not to mention, she'd started sneezing and hadn't been able to stop. Sam tended to the injuries the best he could under Hermione's tutelage, her ribs taking almost two days to completely heal but the rest of her injuries had vanished within a few hours. It was the nightmares Dean hated.

Hermione needed a lot of sleep given what she'd been through; she'd technically died and that was something that needed processing. He knew she had a fear of water and she'd told him what'd happened to her sleeping pattern when she was a teenager after the tournament she'd been a part of, but this was so much worse. She'd died. And the nightmares were horrific, whenever she closed her eyes she saw it all play out before her, over and over again on a loop. Dean did his best to comfort her and in the end, she'd resorted to taking Sleeping Potions, not wishing to disrupt his sleep or be a burden no matter how many times Dean told her she wasn't.

In time he knew it would all be a thing of the past and she'd get better and he had every intention of teaching her to swim no matter her fear or her protests. He couldn't go through that again. Not when it could be easily rectified.

The text tone on his phone sounded and he briefly read the message, seeing that Bobby had sent him the information he needed. Now he just had to wait for Sam and his father to return so he could leave. Whilst he waited, he busied himself with cleaning his handguns and knives before returning them to their proper place of hiding, which is when they returned.

He'd barely let them into the room before he took the keys from Sam, his younger brother blinking slowly at the fast action.

"Where are you off to?" He asked, seeing him wearing his leather jacket and his purposeful positioning by the door.

"There's something I gotta do, keep an eye on Hermione for me. I'll be back in a few hours but if anything happens, call me and I'll be back as soon as I can."

Dean left out the room and closed the door behind, Sam's words being halted before he'd even managed to speak them. He headed straight for the Impala and climbed into the driver's side, taking a quick glance at the fuel gauge and deciding it was probably best he filled the tank before he went anywhere.

Once he'd reached his first destination and he'd refuelled and grabbed a few snacks for the journey, he double-checked the address Bobby had sent him before hitting the road, hoping it wouldn't be too long a drive.

~000~000~000~

He'd been parked on the side of the street for almost fifteen minutes, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly and his gaze staring at the rundown one-story house across the street.

He knew what, or more specifically, who, was inside and he could feel his anger building. He had to be careful, he knew that but that was difficult to remember as images of Hermione being shoved against a wall in front of James and having a vase thrown at her head flashed through his mind.

Taking a breath and applying the calming techniques Hermione had taught him to aid with PTSD, (which he'd discovered help with anger) he felt himself calming and now that he had better control of himself, he climbed out of the Impala, locked it behind him and stuffed his keys in the pocket of his leather jacket as he purposely crossed to the house, lifting his hand and knocking on the wooden door.

He'd counted to twenty by the time he heard footfalls approaching and the door opened, only he hadn't been expecting the person on the other side.

A woman. A young woman who looked to be in her early-twenties. Her hair was a mousy blonde, her eyes a dark shade of blue, her nose small and her mouth small with thin lips. But it wasn't her age or appearance that had him doing a double-take. No, it was the right black eye, the bruises he could see peeking out beneath the high-neck sweater, the finger-shaped bruises on her forearms where her sleeves were pulled up to her elbows and most alarmingly, the large and evident bump of her stomach. She was pregnant. He remembered what Ginny Weasley had looked like when they'd gone to London for the first time to see Rose after she'd been born, she'd been six months pregnant and if Dean had to guess, he'd say the woman before him was around the same, maybe a little further along.

"Can I help you?" She asked quietly, deliberately avoiding eye contact as her gaze darted over his shoulder, down the street and then down to the ground.

The anger he'd carefully restrained began to rattle and build as he watched her nervous mannerisms. Had Hermione lied to him? Had she downplayed the abuse she'd suffered to placate him? He had a feeling that she had. Looking at the woman before him, he knew she had.

"Yeah, I'm looking for a Michael Ashton Damon, I was told I could find him here," he replied, relaxing his own body and offering her his most charming smile, glad to see that she didn't seem as nervous as she darted a glance to him.

Dean was amazed it had taken Bobby so long to find him. He had changed his name as they'd expected but he'd been stupid and had only changed the combination. He'd gone from Damon Michael Ashton to Michael Ashton Damon, but Harry's reveal of his middle name had been a big help, narrowing down the suspect pool to only one possible candidate and they'd been right. He hadn't just left Manning, he'd moved to an entirely different State and it was just his luck that they'd taken a case only a few hours away. It was almost as if it had been fated.

"He's... Erm... He's not here. He's at work..." She replied quietly, shifting on her feet.

"That's fine, I don't mind waiting, you mind if I come in?"

He didn't wait for a reply as he carefully breezed past her and into the house, being mindful not to touch her. He took in his surroundings; it was clean but in a messy organized kind of way with the magazines piled on the coffee table, DVD's stacked high by the TV and odd trinkets scattered about. The couch didn't look all that clean and he decided to forgo sitting on it and inside headed into the kitchen, taking a seat at the cluttered small, round kitchen table, keeping his hands in his pockets so he didn't touch anything.

"Can I get your something to drink?" The young woman asked.

"No, I'm good, thanks," he replied.

She nodded slowly and went over to the sink, sticking her hands in the soapy water as she washed the last of the dishes and put them to dry. He must've interrupted her, he realised. Once she'd done that, she checked on whatever was cooking in the oven before she turned to face him, pulling at her sweater anxiously.

"So, Erm... How do you know Michael?" She asked, shifting her hair behind her ear and then tugging on her sweater once more.

He eyed her like she was an animal that had been backed into a corner and was preparing to make a run for it.

"I don't personally, we have a mutual friend, one I care for very much," he replied.

"Oh... Well..." She trailed off, her eyes darting about the kitchen and avoiding his gaze.

"What's your name?"

She looked startled before answering, "Becky,"

"Becky, he hurts you, doesn't he?"

"What! No, of course he doesn't," she denied, shaking her head vehemently. "I'm just clumsy, I'm always running into things," she said, her voice rising in panic.

Dean sighed. "Look, Sweetheart," he started, making sure to soften his voice when she squeaked and backed up against the countertop. "I'm not stupid, I can see the finger-shaped bruises on your arms." At this, she tugged her sleeves down to her wrists to hide the marks. "That black eye, it's from a fist, not a door. I know, I've gotten in plenty of bar fights over the years. Is that baby his? Why would you stay if he hurts you?"

"He loves me, he'd never hurt us," she shook her head, her hands coming to rest against her stomach instinctively.

"We both know that's a lie. You're pregnant with his baby and he's still harming you. You're to be a mom, don't you want to protect your baby from him. If he hurts you, he'll hurt that baby, too. Just because he tells you he loves you doesn't make up for him hurting you."

"I can't leave, he'll kill us," she said brokenly, tears falling down her face. "I tried before and then I found out I was pregnant. I have nowhere else to go. He took me away from my family, my parents would never help me if they found out I'm pregnant; they don't believe in sex before marriage."

"I highly doubt that; I think they'll be more worried about their little girl having been in a toxic, abusive and manipulative relationship and they'd rather have you alive than in a body bag. If you stay, that's how this is going to end."

"I can't leave him..."

Dean sighed before standing from the table, seeing the way she flinched ever so slightly and then he dug his hand into his back jean pocket, pulling his wallet free. He didn't have a lot on him but it should be enough to get her out of this hellhole and back to her family, far away from him.

He was slow in his approach of her, not wishing to frighten her anymore than she already was and he halted an appropriate distance away from her before holding out the folded bills for her to take. Her eyes slowly moved between them and his face and back again.

"That's everything I have on me and though it's not a lot, it should be enough to get a cab or bus ticket back to your family."

"I can't take that," she said her head.

"Yeah, you can," he disagreed. "Take this and get yourself to safety, get yourself somewhere where you can raise that baby without worry or fear. You might never get this chance again and one day, he may go too far and they'll be no walking away from it. Now, quickly pack whatever you need, leave your phone behind and get out of here before he comes back."

She looked hesitant, conflicted but she gave a little wince and smoothed her hand over her stomach, presumably as the baby kicked and a look of hope soon surfaced.

"Thank you, I don't know how I can repay you," she said quietly, taking the folded bills from him and holding them tightly whilst he slipped his hands into his pockets and took a step back from her.

"Just get yourself out of here and take care of your baby. That's all the thanks I need. You better be quick, if he works the regular nine-to-five hours he'll be back soon."

She nodded and quickly disappeared from the kitchen, returning not even ten minutes later with a hastily packed carryon case, sneakers on her feet, a winter coat fastened and a scarf wrapped around her neck. She hesitated when she saw him sat in the kitchen and she opened her mouth to speak only to flinch when his phone rang.

Dean eyed her carefully as he pulled the ringing device from his pocket and flipped it open, putting it against his ear.

"Dean? Are you okay? Where are you?"

Dean unknowingly released a sigh of relief and his body visibly relaxed.

"I'm fine, Baby, I promise, there's nothing for you to worry about. I'm just running a few errands."

"I woke up and Sam said that you'd left hours ago but had no idea where you were going."

"I'll be back soon. How'd you sleep? Better?"

"I suppose, but the potions prevent me from dreaming and once I stop taking them, it could be a different story."

"Good, you need your rest and we'll deal with that when it comes to it."

"Dean, I've been asleep for most of the day," she argued, likely rolling her eyes.

"So a few more hours won't hurt you. You need as much rest as possible. Anyway, what d'you want for dinner?"

"I don't know, soup, maybe? At least, that's what Sam wants; he hasn't stopped talking about it since I woke up."

"Baby, I asked what you wanted for dinner, not Sammy."

"I don't mind having soup," she replied, likely shrugging her shoulders. "And maybe pie for dessert?"

"Read my mind," he smiled fondly. "I'll pick it up on the way back, I'll text you when I'm on my way, it shouldn't be too long now. If you're hungry have Sammy make you a sandwich or something."

"I'm perfectly capable of making my own sandwich," she huffed.

"I never said you weren't, I just don't want you getting out of bed when you need rest."

"Whatever," she grumbled. "You're sure you're okay?" She asked, her voice softening in worry; he could imagine her biting at her lip.

"Perfectly fine, I promise."

"I know you, when you go off on your own you always get into trouble."

He snorted. "I guess it's good that I've got you to bail me out then, huh?"

"You're an idiot," she sighed.

"But I'm your idiot," he shrugged.

She laughed. "Yeah, and I wouldn't have you any other way. I'll see you soon? Please be careful."

"I will, alright, I gotta go, Baby, I'll see you soon."

He snapped the phone shut and slipped it back into his pocket, raising a questioning eyebrow at the slightly tipped head of the woman before him.

"Your girlfriend?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Is she sick? Pregnant?" She asked, her hand smoothing over her stomach.

"Not pregnant," he shook his head. "Something happened a few days ago but she's better now, just needs a bit of rest."

She nodded slowly and nibbled at her lip, looking hesitant to ask the next question.

"She's the mutual friend, isn't she? She's why you're here."

Dean ran a hand through his hair and then slipped it back into his pocket. "Yeah, Michael's her ex-boyfriend. When we started dating, I found out he'd harmed her and he did so in front of her nephew. But looking at you, I think she downplayed the abuse, not wanting to upset me. I've been looking for him ever since, the bastard changed his name and moved to another State, but I had help tracking him down. There's plenty of people that want to speak to him about he did to her, which is why he ran."

She shifted on her feet. "How long have you been together?"

"A year in March," he shrugged.

"She's lucky to have you," she commented. "Not many people would do what you've done for her or me."

"I'm lucky to have found her," he disagreed. "And sooner or later, you'll find someone that treats you the way you deserved to be treated. Not every man is a monster."

She nodded slowly, looking as though she didn't believe him but didn't wish to argue. "What are you going to do to him?"

Dean heard a car pull up and he twisted to look out the kitchen window, seeing a cab waiting outside.

"You should go," he said, deliberately ignoring her question.

"Right," she nodded. "And thank you. If anyone tracks me down and asks what happened, I'll lie," she told him.

"I'd appreciate that," he tipped his head.

"Thank you," she cleared her throat before she left the kitchen, carryon in hand, Dean watching out the window as she climbed into the cab and it drove away.

Now he just had to wait.

~000~000~000~

Almost half an hour had passed and in that time, Dean had turned off the oven to prevent whatever was cooking from burning or catching fire, and he'd helped himself to some of the food in the fridge and made himself a coffee, taking only two sips before pouring it down the sink. Hermione's coffee was so much better.

He was leaning against the counter when he checked his watch, seeing it growing close to five-thirty. He'd be back soon, he had to be. And just as that thought crossed his mind, he heard a car pulling up outside and the engine being shut off.

Dean sprang into position, hiding behind the kitchen door and his hands balling into fists as he tried to reign in his anger.

"Becky! I hope dinner's ready, I'm starving!" A voice called as they stepped into the house, the door closing loudly behind him. "Becky! Where are you?!" Footsteps approached the kitchen before he paused in the doorway. "Stupid bitch," he hissed angrily, seeing the kitchen empty of both food and the pregnant young woman. "Becky, get your fat ass out here! You know what happens when dinner's not ready!"

Dean heard his footfalls retreating from the kitchen and that's when he struck, he darted out from behind the door, reached out to grab the shorter man by the back of his dirty t-shirt and tugged him back, slamming him against the wall and pinning him in place with his arm pressed against his throat.

"Fuck!" He cursed.

Dean's eyes scanned his face, seeing dark hair and eyes, pale skin and he caught sight of a foreign symbol tattooed onto his forearm. It was definitely him.

"Who're you? What d'you want? Where's Becky?"

Dean's eyes narrowed hatefully and he took a calming breath.

"Damon Michael Ashton?" Dean questioned.

His eyes blinked slowly from the daze of being slammed against the wall and he struggled to free himself but Dean's hold was unrelenting.

"How d'you know that name?" His eyes narrowed in confusion.

"If you're going to change your name and run and hide like the piece of shit you are, I suggest doing a better job of it. When I learned about you, I knew I couldn't let it go no matter much she told me to. There's plenty of people that want to get their hands on you for what you did to her."

"Look, I ain't got a fucking clue what you're talking about," he replied.

"Hermione!" Dean growled, pushing his arm further against his throat to obstruct his breathing slightly.

"I don't know no Hermione but she sounds like a bitch."

Dean's anger swarmed him and without warning he pulled him away from the wall, shoved across the room and balled his hand into a fist, swinging and hitting him in the mouth.

"Fuck! Man! What was that for!?" He spat, blood mixed with saliva falling to the murky-grey carpet beneath their feet.

"Don't talk about her like that!" Dean snarled, slowly advancing on him and punching him in the stomach until he coughed and doubled over, falling to his knees.

"Look, I don't know no Hermione!" He protested, glaring up at Dean through watering eyes. "I don't know what she's said or who you think I am, but you've got the wrong guy!"

"No, I haven't," Dean replied coldly, punching him across the face so hard he swayed and then landed face-first on the ground. Dean crouched down beside him, pushing him onto his back and gripping his t-shirt in his hand, his other hand balled into a fist in preparation to punch him again. "I know exactly who you are. You see, I think she did lie to me but not about you. She simply told me that you shoved her into a wall and threw a vase at her head when she broke up with you, but after seeing the state of that young woman I found here, I know she severely downplayed her abuse so I wouldn't worry."

"Becky? Where is she?" He glared up at him, surprisingly remaining still with blood dripping from his nose and mouth.

"She's safe, I've made sure of that. As for what you did to Hermione..."

"I told you, I don't know no Hermione!" He shouted in his face.

"You're lying, it's not a name that's heard often and the girl's certainly one of kind, very hard to forget. But for clarification's sake, I'm talking about Hermione Granger, British, she took you to England to introduce you to her family."

Something inside his dark eyes seemed to spark to life as his mouth suddenly twitched into a cruel smirk.

"Oh, that Hermione," he replied, his tone mocking. "I remember now, yeah, she was a weird one and her crazy-ass family. Never met such a bunch of weirdos in all my life..." Dean gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw tightly. "It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for, isn't it? Fuck, she could talk forever but I was surprised to find she could use her mouth for other things. Damn, did that girl know how to suck..."

Dean's fist collided with his face, his words halting mid-sentence and a crack sounding beneath his fist as his nose broke, but he didn't cry out in pain, he laughed madly.

"Oh, I get it, you're fucking her, aren't you? Tell me, does she still do that thing where she begs for it like a bitch in heat? Man, I still jerk off to thoughts of her mouth..."

Dean lifted him from the ground before slamming him down, his back and head thudding loudly against the floor and he groaned in pain before laughing.

"There's only one thing that bitch is good for and that's using her scarred body to pay for her meals. Not that anyone would want to touch her."

That was it. White, hot rage coursed through his veins, his face flushing red and his vision blurring until he saw nothing but white light. He barely registered the ache and soreness of his hand, the sound of laughter falling to silence or the red, warm blood that coated his bruising knuckles and splattered against his face as his fist collided with his face repeatedly until he was barely recognisable.

"Dean! Fuck sake, stop, you're going to kill him!"

Dean's arm was caught mid-punch and he was hauled to his feet, away from the barely moving bloodied figure on the ground and he was pushed against the wall, being held in place.

"Dean, calm down!" His father's voice commanded.

"No, I'm going to kill him," Dean growled, trying to break free of his father's hold so he could beat him with his fists, before he remembered he had his handgun hidden in the waistband of his jeans but his father seemed to know this and intercepted before he could reach it. "Let. Me. Go."

"No," his father glared right back at him, refusing to back down or show fear. "You've made your point. You've taught him a lesson for hurting Hermione but you can't kill him. We can't have any more bodies tied to our name, you're already a wanted man. If you go to jail for this, what will happen to her? Do you think she'll be fine without you? She needs you just as much as you need her. Don't be stupid and listen to me. You've done what you came to do, you've beaten him to near death and now we have to leave, the neighbours have probably already called the police, I heard you from across the street. Now go!"

He pulled back and allowed him free and before Dean could attempt to land another punch, his father gripped him by the back of the neck and forcefully shoved him out of the house, pausing briefly to see the slow rise and fall of the unconscious figure's chest. He was alive but barely.

He dragged him out of the house, Dean struggling and trying to turn back so he could finish him off but his father's grip was strong and unrelenting. As he shoved him towards the Impala, he paused in his steps when he saw the next-door neighbour stood outside of his door, watching them knowingly.

"I won't tell anyone what I heard or saw," the grey-haired man promised, folding his arms over his chest, his eyes darting between Dean's bloodied appearance (it being evident the blood was not his) him struggling to break free of his father's hold and the Impala which had been parked at the side of the street for over an hour. "And neither will anyone else on the street. Michael's a nasty piece of work, we all know what he does to Becky and she's a sweet kid, doesn't deserve it. We all tried to help her but she was too afraid of him. From what I saw, he got her out of there; I saw her leave with a packed bag. But this wasn't about her, who's he know that Michael's harmed?" The neighbour asked knowingly.

Dean barely registered the conversation as he muttered to himself and ran his hand through his hair.

"His girlfriend," his father answered. The neighbour nodded slowly in understanding. "She's a pain in my ass..." Dean shot his father a withering glare and looked to be contemplating punching him. "But she's a good woman and certainly didn't deserve whatever he did to her."

The neighbour nodded. "You'd better go, someone's bound to have called the police."

His father nodded once before shoving Dean over to the Impala, fishing the keys from his pocket and pushing him into the passenger's side seat.

"You're in no fit state to drive," he told him before climbing into the driver's side, switching on the ignition and driving off, turning off the street just as sirens sounded.

"I wanted to kill him," Dean muttered, staring down at his slowly bruising and split knuckles, blood coating his skin.

"You almost did," his father replied.

"How did you know?" He turned his gaze to him, feeling the rage slowly leaving him and he sank back into his seat.

"Bobby called me, told me he'd found the guy you were looking for. He was worried you'd do more than teach him a lesson. So, I hotwired a car and drove down here. I left it three blocks away to be found."

"I promised Hermione I'd get dinner on the way back, she wants soup and pie."

"There's a diner ten miles from the motel, local's said it's a good place to eat. We'll stop there. Do you want her to know?"

"No," he shook his head. "I think she lied to me."

"About?" He arched an eyebrow.

"She told me he only ever shoved her into a wall and threw a vase at her. You didn't see the state of his current girlfriend. She was pregnant and covered in bruises and I wouldn't be surprised if there was more I couldn't see."

His father's grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles went white before he released a slow breath.

"And she lied because she knew what you'd do to him, smart girl," his father nodded. "What happened to the current girlfriend?"

"I convinced her to go home to her parents, I gave her a couple hundred dollars, it's all the money I had on me but it should be enough to get her to where she needs to be."

"Good, as for Hermione, you should probably stay in my room until you've cleaned yourself up and Sam's had a chance to see if he can figure out how to heal your hand. If sees you, she'll either worry or know, likely both."

~000~000~000~

"What the hell happened?" Sam asked, his eyes widening at the sight of his blood-spattered face and clothing and his bruised and split knuckles.

"Bobby found Hermione's ex," Dean muttered, moving to sit at the table and his head dropping into his hands.

Sam froze. "Shit," he whispered. "And that's where you went," he stated knowingly. "Is he alive?"

"Yeah, only 'cause dad pulled me away. I would've killed him. You didn't hear the things he said about her Sammy, I wanted to kill him. And there was a woman, a pregnant woman covered in bruises. I managed to convince her to leave him and go back to her family, gave all the money I had to help her."

"Damn," he muttered, shaking his head. "You did a good thing, Dean, both in helping that woman and not killing him even if he did deserve it, Hermione would never forgive you. I guess we're keeping this quiet?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, dad's taken in her dinner, keeping her distracted."

Sam nodded. "I'll see if I can get her medical supplies without her noticing, I'll be right back," Sam said before he left the room.

Dean sighed to himself before reaching into his pocket and pulling his phone free, flipping it open and searching through the few contacts he had before he found the one he was looking for and pressed dial. It rang four times before the voice on the other end sounded.

"Dean? What is it? Is something wrong with Hermione?" Harry Potter asked, sounding panicked. Dean could understand why, he never called Harry. He always used Hermione's phone when talking to the kids.

"Hermione's fine," he replied tiredly, knowing not to tell him about the drowning incident as Hermione didn't want her family to know. "Just thought I'd let you know, Bobby found him."

The line went silent for only but a moment before Harry's voice said, "And?"

"And it's been taken care of."

"Good, did you kill him?"

Why was everyone asking him that question?

"No, I wanted to but my dad showed up and stopped me. He was barely breathing when we left."

"Good, I'm glad he got what was coming to him. I'll tell the others, too. Don't be surprised if you find yourself being owled prank products from George or random food baskets from Molly."

Dean snorted. "Look forward to it. Hermione doesn't know and we're keeping it that way."

"Yeah, that's for the best," Harry said knowingly. "She'd kill not only you, but me and everyone else in the know, too. She's too kind and doesn't understand that sometimes things need to be dealt with in ways that don't include forgiveness. Anyway, I'll let you go, I better help Gin put the kids to bed before she hexes my bollocks off."

"Oh, you want more kids, do you?" Dean asked.

"Merlin, no! Three's enough. You know, I see your point, it might not be such a bad punishment; it's certainly easier than her buying the potions every month," he mused.

Dean snorted. "See ya," he said, snapping the phone shut.

~000~000~000~

"Oh thank Merlin," Hermione sighed, jumping from the bed and hugging him to her before he'd even properly closed the door.

His arms folded around her and he breathed slowly, inhaling the scent of apples from her slightly damp hair.

"I was so worried. It's not like you to be gone so long, or on your own for that matter."

"Just a few errands that needed taking care of, but it's done now. No more going off on my own, promise," he muttered. "Have you eaten?"

"Yes, your dad dropped off the food. You?"

"Yeah, but I gotta say, the pie was nothing compared to your baking."

She snorted. "I'll bake you one when I next have the chance."

She pulled back from him and tugged him over to the bed, pulling him to sit beside her. Her thumb swiped over his knuckles and Dean's breathing halted when a frown pulled at her face and she brought his hand up to eye level, examining it carefully before she gave her head a shake and smile pulled at her mouth as she lowered it. Dean breathed a quiet sigh of relief, she hadn't noticed which meant Sam was getting good at magical healing with potions.

Her eyes darted to him and her teeth captured her bottom lip. His eyebrow arched and before he knew it, he'd been pushed onto his back and Hermione was straddling him, her mouth latched onto his and her hands were tugging at his hair.

"Not until you're better," he told her, reluctantly pushing her back from him by her shoulders.

"I'm fine, and I have been for days. I promise. Are you really going to deny me? It's been over a week and I've missed you."

His eyes slowly trailed her face. "You're fine?"

"Yes, I swear on my magic and you know that's not something we take lightly."

A squeal of laughter fell from her when he rolled them, pinning her beneath him as he hovered over her, staring directly into her eyes.

"What?" She asked after a few moments of silence, her features relaxed and her smile soft.

"You know I'd never hurt you, right?"

Her brow creased. "Of course I do. Where's this coming from?"

"You know I'd never lay a hand on you?"

"Yes, I know that. You may hide it, but you're one of the greatest people I've ever met and you're the only man to treat me with so much kindness and not respect anything in return. But seriously? What's brought this on?"

His eyes searched for something before he avoided the question by kissing her softly until her eyes fluttered closed, her arms wrapped around his neck and a sigh slipped past her lips.

"Okay, I'll concede but we do this my way and we'll be careful. You're not to move. Just let me do everything."

"But..." She tried to protest but he interrupted.

"No, let me worship you the way you deserve," he muttered, his mouth silencing any further protests as he pressed his lips against hers.

~000~000~000~

Six days later...

"Whose shirt is that?" Dean asked, stepping into the room with Sam behind him, both carrying a bag of food each before they deposited them on the table and his father soon followed, a crate of beer in hand.

"Yours?" Hermione replied questioningly, looking down at the plain olive-green t-shirt she wore as she flicked through her research material for the new case they were working on.

"No, it's not," Dean replied, taking a seat at the table with his father whilst Sam crossed over to the other bed in the room, being greeted by his sleepy cat as he took his seat.

"It's not?" She frowned in confusion.

"No, I know 'cause I see you wearing my clothes more often than your own. That's not mine 'cause it's too big on you, it's almost down to your knees, my shirts aren't that big."

"I think it's mine," Sam shrugged.

Hermione and Dean's gaze darted to Sam, examining his larger frame before they both nodded.

"Well, mystery solved," Hermione said, her eyes going back to the papers in her hand.

"Hang on, you're okay with your girlfriend wearing your brother's shirt?" His father asked disbelievingly.

"I suppose so," Dean shrugged, seeing no issue with it. It was only a shirt, after all, one that had probably gotten mixed up with his things which is why Hermione was wearing it. And she was obviously comfortable and that meant more to him than anything. "You wearing shorts underneath that?"

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

"She's wearing shorts, so she's not gonna flash her ass to anyone."

"It's not as if I haven't seen it before either," Sam piped up.

"Meaning?" Dean's narrowed gaze snapped to him.

"She kicks the blankets off during the night when she's too warm," he shrugged. "Thankfully she's always wearing underwear, but I do not want to know what she prefers."

"Lace, silk and satin," Dean shrugged, "Unless she's on her period, then she prefers cotton."

"Why would you tell me that?" Sam grimaced and his father rolled his eyes.

"Should I be offended that you don't like my choice in knickers?" Hermione asked, looking puzzled and Dean snorted at her. "And, while we're on the topic of discussing knickers. I have a question, something that's been bothering me for a while now."

Sam and Dean looked to each other and then to her, their eyebrows arching.

"And that is?" Dean asked.

"Will someone please tell me what the fascination is with women wearing thongs?"

"Excuse me?" Sam asked in surprise.

Hermione's gaze darted to Sam's surprised expression, his confused one and his father's amused one.

"What's the fascination with women wearing thongs? Why do men find it sexy? I don't understand it. I mean, what's sexy about a permanent wedgie?"

Laughter erupted from Dean and so much that he nearly fell off his chair.

"Where'd you find her again?" His father asked amusedly.

Dean couldn't respond, his laughter being too hard to stop or control.

"Seriously? Someone, please answer me!" Hermione spoke exasperatedly. "What's sexy about a permanent wedgie?!"

"I take it you don't wear them," his father commented, his face remarkably stoic given the topic of conversation and the question he'd just asked.

Hermione looked at him in irritation. "Are you not listening to me? Why on earth would I want to have a permanent wedgie?"

"We are far too close if we can have a conversation like this," Sam muttered, a shiver racing through him.

"There's nothing wrong about speaking of women's underwear," she argued. "Tell me, would you wear boxers that gave you a permanent wedgie?"

"Can we please stop talking about this!" Sam exclaimed, his cheeks tinting pink.

"Merlin, you have a wedgie right now, don't you?"

His father burst into laughter and Dean almost passed out from laughing; Sam's face was a picture.

Whilst it was taking a long-ass time to find the demon, it was days like this that kept him sane.