Authors note: Rated M for language, physical and verbal abuse, sex

Bittersweet

Chapter 1

"Dad come on. This is bullshit. I don't want to babysit." Dean Winchester grumbled to his father for the thousandth time since they'd left their fleabag motel before dawn. John Winchester let out an audible, annoyed sigh but otherwise remained silent. His eldest son was trying his patience. Dean was 22, cocky, strong willed but usually the more obedient of his two boys. Dean had also been nearly killed a week ago when the Vampire nest they attacked had eight sets of fangs instead of the three they were expecting. His left shoulder was still healing from a nasty dislocation and Dean knew he was being punished for screwing up the hunt by getting injured . "-And whats-her-name annoys the shit out of me…following me around like a puppy. Hey guys do you want to go swimming? Hey guys do you want to play Super Nintendo? Hey guys-"

John slammed a hand on the steering wheel having had enough of Dean's tantrum. He would have expected an argument from Sam. His eyes flitted to the rear view mirror out of habit; Sam and his unruly mop of auburn hair had been gone for nearly six months. He had disappeared in the middle of the night without a word a week after his 18th birthday. Dean had frantically searched for his younger brother for a week before he finally had to tell his father Sam was gone. It took John two days to find him enrolled in Stanford University on a full academic scholarship. Sam hadn't even told his father or brother he'd applied for colleges. The hurt cut John deep but he knew it had been more savage for Dean.

"Enough. God damn it, you aren't babysitting. Ryan's almost Sam's age for shits sake. You haven't seen the girl in over six years." John took a deep breath trying to lower his voice. Dean shrank against the passenger door trying to keep himself out of reach if one of Johns fists went sailing in his direction. He swore he hadn't meant to hit Dean after the incident with the Vampires but for a few terrifying moments when Dean had disappeared under the snarling mass of bodies he was sure he had lost him. Then Dean has reappeared covered in blood and swinging his machete one handed decapitating monster after monster. The fear had enraged him; made him angry that the Vamps had got the jump on them, angry that Dean hadn't tried to get him to run when they realized how outnumbered they were and angry at himself for putting his son in danger again. And when Dean had sauntered up to him with his left arm hanging limp and dislocated, machete thrown over his other shoulder like he didn't have a care in the world John had seen nothing but red. He didn't stop hitting his son until Dean lay unconscious and bloody at his feet. Half of Deans face was still covered in fading bruises. "Me and Paul are goin' after a pack of Werewolves. We'll be gone a week, ten days tops." He said as he pulled the Impala off the highway.

"Paul's a useless drunk..." Dean muttered.

"He called and asked for my help-"

"Because no one else would come." Dean cut in before snapping his mouth shut. He was pushing his luck. He knew that but he was tired, hungry, horny and his shoulder hurt like a son of bitch.

"I can't trust you to have my back with one good arm against a pack of Werewolves. You stay at the cabin with Ryan. I'll leave you the car. You have my permission to take her out as long as your dick stays in your pants."

Dean snorted derisively. "Yeah no worries there dad. Ryan's a mountain troll. Grubby, buck toothed loser..." He shook his head in annoyance and stared out the window in a heavy sullen silence for close to another hour as his father drove the car through a small town and then winding mountain lanes until they at last they came to private road. Dean let memories of the weeks spent at the Toryn cabin come back. Nan Toryn had been the shining light on these impromptu visits. She was the closest thing to a grandmother Dean and Sam had ever had, always remembering their birthdays and having a platter of still warm chocolate chip cookies ready. Ryan would be waiting on the steps for them to arrive and immediately hounding the brothers to hang out, play video games or go to the lake behind the cabin. Paul Toryn would stumble out from whatever dank cave he'd been drinking in to go hunting; all but ignoring his only daughter and leaving her to be raised by his elderly mother.

The private road was blocked off a hundred feet from the turn off with a ten foot tall rolling gate, thick trees lined either side making it impossible to drive around. John slammed the brakes and muttered curses under his breath when he found the gate still chained and padlocked; rusty "Private property","Do not trespass", and "Violators will be shot on sight" signs along with warding sigils were spray painted along the metal slats. "Son of a bitch Paul..." He yelled kicking the rusted gate in frustration. John got his phone out of his pocket and started yelling into it while pacing back and forth. After several tense minutes a faint shine of headlights reflected through the thick copse of trees as a rusty pickup truck trundled towards them. A huge bear of a man heaved himself out of his truck.

Paul Toryn was as big as Dean remembered, his face all but hidden by a heavy woolen cap pulled low over his ears and a thick unruly ginger beard. The guy looked like he belonged on a Viking long ship not in a cabin in the middle of nowhere Montana. The man peered suspiciously at John Winchester apparently making him answer several questions and take a swig of something out of a silver flask. Paul shook Johns hand through the gate finally satisfied he had passed whatever series of tests he had given him.

"You called me, Paul. Remember that! I got my own shit to deal with!" John yelled over his shoulder as he walked back to the car. Paul unlocked the huge padlock and pushed the gate open waiving the Impala through. "That drunk bastards more paranoid than Rufus Turner." He grumbled angrily under his breath as they drove away from the road and toward Toryn's cabin. The headlights of Paul's rusty truck bounced along after them until they reached the cabin. The two story wooden home rose out of a clearing in the forest, lights shining from several windows. A road weathered 1968 Dodge Charger was parked off to the side of the house, the hood propped open with a toolbox and the transmission in pieces on the ground in front of it. A dirt road wound past the cabin to an old quarry lake Dean remembered from previous visits.

Paul's truck screeched to a halt behind them as the Winchester's piled out of the Impala and grabbed their belongings. "Ryan's inside making dinner; hopefully it's edible." The big man said ambling towards them. Paul had a limp from a long ago fight with a Wendigo that went awry; the limp was more pronounced after he'd had too much drink. Tonight he walked with a jerky unsure step as if his right leg was stuck in a pothole. He staggered twice going up the three narrow steps to the porch and would have fallen on his face if Dean hadn't caught him with his injured arm. He let out a painful hiss cradling his arm close to his body after he got Paul back on his feet. "God damn that useless...Ryan! Turn on the god damn porch lights!" He barked sending a cloud of sour whiskey breath into Dean's face.

"Dad, I told you yesterday there's something wrong with the wires!" A lite feminine voice sounded from further inside the cabin. The mouth watering aroma of pork chops and fresh baked rolls drifted from the kitchen off to the right of the entry way and living room.

"Fuckin' useless-" Paul cussed again staggering away from Dean. The younger hunter looked back at his father and mouthed "Really?" Johns face remained a stoic mask watching as Paul lurched through a swinging door into the kitchen. Paul Toryn was a drunk and an asshole but he asked for help. Heaven and Hell only knows why he reached out to John Winchester after so long. "John Winchester and his boy are here. You best not do anything that embarrasses me." Paul's voice boomed through the swinging door.

"I told you not to call them. I can go with you. It's nothing we can't handle." Ryans voice flitted through the air again. She no longer had the high pitched whine of an overweight tween girl complaining about being left behind while the boys went out to explore the forest. She sounded tense and tired, like she was trying to talk down a growling dog.

"Like you handled those fuckin' Harpies?" Paul yelled back.

Dean wasn't exactly sure if Paul was yelling or if this was simply the usual tone he used with his daughter. "He's taking Ryan hunting? He's gonna get her killed." Dean hissed at his father.

"I saved your ass from those bitches-" The resounding hollow smack of an open palm striking soft flesh cut through the air. Dean moved towards the kitchen only to be stopped by his father grabbing his arm.

John shook his head once. "We're not here to get involved with that." He said quietly.

Dean shifted uncomfortably on his feet, the duffel bag in his hand suddenly feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. "Why the hell are we here then?"

Paul continued yelling in the kitchen stopping any further discussion. "-And I told you to fix the god damn porch lights. I almost broke my god damn neck."

"I don't know how to fix the electrical. I tried to look it up online but you didn't pay the internet bill-" Ryan's voice was again cut off with another smack.

"Don't talk back to me. I want dinner on the table in ten minutes." Paul staggered back through the swinging door. Dean let his eyes roam guilty around the cabin trying to pretend like he and his father didn't hear any of what had transpired in the next room.

Paul rubbed one large hand behind his neck. "Sorry 'bout that fellas. She's going through a phase..."

John's face remained tight and impassive. "You gotta room Dean can stay in?"

Paul nodded. "Take any of the ones upstairs besides mine or Ryans….How 'bout you John?"

"I'll sleep on the couch. We're heading out before dawn."

Paul grunted an affirmation of the plan and led John into the living room leaving Dean alone in the hallway between the dining area and kitchen. The cabin had seen better days. Nan Toryn had always kept everything neat and tidy. Weapons were never allowed to be left unattended, furniture dusted and polished to shining. Now he could see guns in need of oiling and repair strewn on the chipped dining table, half empty boxes of ammo stashed along the walls and various colorful bottles of cheap alcohol left within easy reach every few feet. He heard shuffling in the kitchen as Ryan opened cabinets to retrieve dishes and silverware. Dean darted up the stairs as the kitchen door slowly swung open, trying to postpone the awkward reintroductions for as long as possible.

He could still remember the layout of the house and knew the master bedroom was at the end of the hall. That's where Nan used to sleep; she had always left the door open in case they needed her during the night. He and Sam had alternated between sharing a room and staking out on their own. Taking the rooms either flanking or across from Ryans at the opposite end of the second floor. Ryan still occupied the same room she'd had since Paul had dropped her off when she was barely four years old ; the only things that had changed through the years were her furniture as she outgrew it. Her door stood slightly ajar and he nudged it open with the toe of his boot. Her doll house full of GI Joes and pink wire framed princess bed had been replaced by bookshelves overflowing with books ranging from mundane mass produced paperbacks to collegiate text books and musty tomes that belonged in museums. Posters for Nirvana and Kiss and several schlocky 80's horror movies had been tacked on the walls to cover wet rot and mold spots. A small mattress lay on the floor covered in pillows and throw blankets. His interest piqued, Dean snuck further into the room wanting to see how much Ryan had changed since he last seen her. Her closet had a handful of black t-shirts, jeans and raggedy Chuck Taylor's. A duffel bag with another set of clothes, a gun, holy water and other necessities sat near the door within easy reach. A small mirrored armoire sat next to the window. Dean ran his fingers along the smooth wood remembering Ryans grandmother sitting in front of it brushing her long silver hair while telling the three of them stories. Ryan's family had been hunters for generations and there were enough stories to be told by the old woman that they never got a repeat.

When Dean and Sam had heard of Nan's death over five years earlier they had begged their father to bring them to the wake but he had refused. They were following leads on the Yellow Eyed Demon and John wouldn't let the trail go cold. Except the trail did go cold, just like every other time their father ripped them out of a motel in the middle of the night and barreled down back roads to an unknown location because someone somewhere might have seen something. "Dean! Chow time!" John yelled up the stairs breaking Deans revere. He turned to leave the room when a small curled and discolored Polaroid picture stuck in the corner of the mirror caught his attention. It was him in all his 14 year old pimple chinned glory, Sam at the height of his Vern Tessio phase and Ryan with her buck teeth and thick rimmed glasses. "Jesus I forgot about the glasses...woof." Dean muttered. He left the picture where it was and exited the room without disturbing anything. He opened the door across from her room, checked that it wasn't full of spiderwebs or rats and tossed his bag and jacket on the bed.

"That transmission giving you trouble, Ryan?" Dean heard his father ask as he stepped around the corner and back into the dining area.

Ryan nodded, her long hair once the bright shade of red that kids loved to make fun of was now muted to a soft strawberry blonde and hung in front of her face. She balanced a tray of steaming pork chops and moved around the table setting food on the mismatched plates. She tucked a long strand behind her ear and said. "Yeah I guess so Mr. Winchester. But I'll figure it out."

John laughed, "Mr. Winchester? You call me John, understand?"

"Yes sir...John. I've been following along with these tutorials I found on line. It's just taking a while because the internet keeps going down."

Paul guffawed drunkly, "Stupid twat thinks she can rebuild that car by readin' books and watching videos on RedTube."

An embarrassed, shamed pink tinge rose up her neck and into her cheeks. It was one thing to belittle her in privacy but when he did it in front of other people she was afraid his hatred of her would spread to others like an infection. "RedTube is for porn, dad. YouTube has the car videos and it's worked so far. I got the engine cleaned up-Ow!" Paul grabbed her by the wrist yanking her towards him. She clutched the tray of food tighter knowing if she spilled dinner whatever punishment her father chose would be very much worse than a couple slaps across the face.

"You talkin' back to me?" He asked darkly.

Ryan shook her head again, "No sir... I'm just clarifying. Your beers running low let me you get you another one-" She said placatingly to her father. His rheumy eyes narrowed scowling at her then turned to his bottle of beer. He released her and grabbed the beer draining the last of it in one long swallow.

"Get some for our guests too." He commanded handing Ryan the empty glass bottle and dismissing her to the kitchen.

John loudly cleared his throat as Dean stepped unsurely into the dining room, "You know Dean's a helluva mechanic-" Dean couldn't remember the last time his father had given him any sort of compliment and he stared at his father for several long seconds. "Maybe you could help Ryan out with that tranny?" John said as Ryan slipped back into the room and handed her father a fresh bottle of beer. She straightened up nervously finally noticing Dean had made his entrance.

She gave him a half smile her bottom lip swollen and discolored from her fathers slaps. "Hi Dean." She said handing John his beer then sitting across from Dean and sliding his beer to him. "You start your ex-wife collection yet?" The corners of her blue eyes crinkled behind her glasses. Glasses that no longer made her look like Squints Palledorous but more the sort of nerdy girl you'd find hiding in between the tall shelves of a bookstore. Dean tried his best not to stare. The chubby preteen loser he'd tried to avoid like a nightmare case of jock itch had grown up. Rolls of baby fat had grown into curves in very nice places that somehow her dark jeans and long sleeves only accentuated. Her overbite was fixed thanks to several years in braces. Even though she sat next to her father with an edge of wariness like a loyal dog kicked too many times she also had an air of self confidence she hadn't had the last time they had seen each other.

"I'm workin' on it." Dean answered. "How 'bout you? You ever get that spot on the boys football team?"

She shook her head and took a bite of her food. "Coach was a sexist asshole. I could've won them all state."

"Maybe he didn't want a dyke on his team and you dropped out like a fuckin' loser anyways." Paul pipped up.

Ryan bit her lower lip grimacing at the pain and trying to swallow down the embarrassed flush that warmed her face again. "I'm not gay and I finished school a year early online." She muttered barely loud enough for Dean to hear and casting her father a side long glance filled with so much loathing he was surprised Paul couldn't feel it.

Dean stuffed a slice of pork chop into his mouth to keep himself from talking back to Paul and probably end up getting his ass kicked by the ginger giant or his own father. "You still got that Super Nintendo?" He asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah. Maybe I'll kick your ass at Super Street Fighter later." She said pushing her black framed glasses up her nose.

Dinner passed quickly with Paul and John swapping war stories while Dean and Ryan ate mostly in silence. Paul drained three more beers during the meal and barely remained awake by the time Ryan cleared the table. He finally fell asleep mid-sentence and Ryan dove across the table catching his half full beer before it spilled. She wiped the rim on her shirt and took a long drink eyeballing the Winchesters over the rim of the bottle. "Waste not want not." She said setting the now empty bottle down.

"How old are you?" Dean couldn't keep the bossy older brother tone out of his voice.

"Eighteen…in three days." She said smiling her lopsided, swollen lip smile. "What time you heading out in the morning?" She asked turning her attention back to the elder Winchester.

John leaned back in his chair and checked his wristwatch. "0400. I want to be in Sheridan before dusk. The packs already got a two day head start… I'm leaving the car with Dean. Is your dads truck gonna make it to Wyoming?"

"Yeah. It looks and sounds like a piece of shit but it's a beast. I'll pack his gear up after I get him to bed." Ryan told him standing up from the table. She placed a wary hand on her dads shoulder and shook him lightly trying to cajole the man back to consciousness. "Come on Dad. Let's get you to bed." She expertly ducked out of the way of one of his meaty hands like a boxer avoiding a jab when Paul swung his arm out yelling in a drunken slur. Once he calmed enough to get his wits she positioned herself under his shoulder and heaved him out of his chair.

"You need help?" Dean asked as Ryan all but disappeared under the bulk of her huge father.

"No. We gotta routine." She answered. His big legs dragged behind them as they staggered up the stairway. Paul leaned heavily on the banister as Ryan practically lifted him up each step.

"I told you to fix those god damn porch lights. You're fuckin' useless-" Paul slurred.

"I know." Ryan answered pulling him up another step. Paul swayed dangerously on the landing of the second floor with Ryan frantically trying to encourage him another step, "Dad you're gonna break your god damn neck if you don't help me here." Suddenly Dean was there positioning himself under Pauls other shoulder. Ryan peered around her fathers wide chest and glared at him. "I said I don't need your help." She whispered over Paul who had started to snore loudly.

"Yeah it looked like you had it handled." Dean whispered back and together they hauled the drunk tree sized man down the hall to his room.

"Dinner sucked. I should'a kicked your ass-" Paul muttered once again finding his way back to semiconsciousness.

"Yeah I know that too, dad." Ryan answered blankly as they hauled him another few feet down the hall towards his room. The words had lost most meaning. His verbal assaults weren't nearly as painful as the physical ones. She had given up any hope of them reconciling their toxic relationship a long time ago. They were related by blood and that was all. They weren't family anymore. They hadn't been family since her mother died.

"Should'a been 'chu that died. Not her." Paul continued muttering his nightly belittlements. Ryan didn't respond this time instead she just shook her head as if to wipe his words away.

"Paul shut your mouth. You're bein' an asshole." Dean growled as Ryan swung the door open to his bedroom. Jesus, was this how he had always treated her? Dean wondered as he quickly racked his memory from the time he and his brother had spent with the Toryn's. Paul had never really been around, showing up only after their father had brought them and leaving with only a few clipped sentences. He wondered now how horrible things had gotten since Nan had died and Paul had been forced to be around for his daughter. He faintly heard Ryan draw in a quick frightened breath as Paul's alcohol induced fog seemed to lift momentarily.

"Dad-" She ventured before one of Paul's massive hands slammed into the wall next her. She flinched but stayed put knowing if she tried to run from the fight that was brewing it would end up worse for her.

"The fuck you say to me boy?" Paul grumbled threateningly pulling himself up to his full height.

Dean had peaked somewhere near 6' 3" and he still had to crane his neck to meet Paul's red rimmed eyes. "I said you're being an asshole. You should go sleep it off." Dean said standing his ground and nodding his chin towards Paul's dark room.

Paul flexed his huge fists several times and Ryan shrank back against the door frame. Finally he let out a wet barking cough sending another cloud of fetid stale breath into Dean's face. He clapped a meaty hand on Dean's injured shoulder and Dean barely contained the pained groan. "Your balls must be the size of that Chevy your daddy drives. Come drink with me." He belched again making Dean take a step back and wave the air clear of his stench.

"I think I'll pass." Dean told him through clenched teeth.

Paul shrugged his huge shoulders, turned away from Dean and staggered into his room. "Ryan put my shit in the truck and make sure John's comfortable." He barked before teetering forward and falling face first into his bed like King Kong falling off the Empire State building. He was asleep again before his head hit the mattress.

"You alright?" Dean asked quietly worried he might wake the sleeping drunk a few feet away.

Ryan rolled her eyes and pushed her glasses back up her nose. "Don't pretend like you care." She muttered pushing away from the doorframe and entering her dads cluttered room. She picked a bag off the floor and quickly shoved clothes from the broken dresser into it. Then she brushed past Dean to the hall closet they had transformed to a weapons locker. She loaded boxes of silver bullets in different gauges and shoved them into another bag along with several pistols. Lastly she grabbed a hunting rifle propped in the corner and slung it over her shoulder before heading back down the stairs. When Nan had been alive this closet had been full of crafting supplies and her collection of hand knitted quilts .

"Damn it Ryan. Will you stop a minute." Dean hissed grabbing her arm.

"What do you want D?" She asked adjusting the bags on her shoulders.

"Is he always like that?"

Ryan sniffed derisively, "No sometimes he's mean. You should get some sleep. It's a long drive to Wyoming."

"I'm not going to Wyoming. Dad benched me. My shoulders still fucked up." Dean answered rubbing the new bruises Paul had undoubtedly caused.

Ryan grabbed the truck keys and turned to face him. "So…you're staying here... with me? For a couple of weeks? You think you can stomach me for that long?"

"Dad said it'd be a week-"

Ryan snorted laughter, something she had done when she was younger when one of the brothers had said something stupid. "Our fathers together again on the open road, hunting monsters, drinking the nights away…you ever remember a hunting trip taking only a week?"

Dean scrubbed his hands down his face suddenly dreading this trip more than ever. "Fuck." He groaned miserably.

"Don't worry. I'll stay out of your way. You stay out of mine." She told him.

"Did I do something to you? I thought we were cool." He said.

She shook her head looking over his shoulder to the living room where John had settled on the couch, his arm thrown over his eyes and snoring softly. She decided he looked comfortable enough. "Nan fucking loved you two….you didn't even come to her funeral. Not a phone call, a fucking text or letter. Just nothing. It was like you dropped off the edge of the fucking planet."

"It wasn't like that-" Dean started.

She held up one hand to silence him. It was rare she ever got to speak her mind and she had a feeling Dean Winchester hadn't grown into the type of man that hit women for being lippy. "I know why he hates me." She said tilting her head towards the stairs and her sleeping father. "Just tell me what I did to make you hate me. My skins a lot thicker than it used to be."

"That's…that's not true," He said shifting uncomfortably. "Dad...he wouldn't let us come."

"You could've called. You two were my best friends. My only friends. And it took me way too long to realize you couldn't fucking stand me. With Nan gone you didn't have any reason to ever fucking come back here." He could feel an embarrassed flush heating his face. He had complained to his father just a few hours ago about her, he'd called her names and made fun of her behind her back. He suddenly realized now how lonely she must have been. Him and Sam at least always had each other. All she'd ever had was her elderly grandmother and a hateful drunk for a father. "Fuck it. It doesn't matter." She said in a huff pushing her hair over her shoulder. "By the state of your face it looks like you need a vacation from your old man anyways." She pushed the door open and headed out onto the dark porch and the waiting truck below.

Dean ran his fingers along the still visible bruises on his face. "It was vampires." He called out to her.

He heard the metallic clang of the trucks hatch being slammed shut and her foot steps as she walked back to the house free of the heavy bags and rifle. "Sure it was." She said reappearing in front of him. "You still like pancakes?" She asked as she took the stairs back to her room with Dean following behind her.

"Yeah. Why?" He asked.

"I'll make breakfast once those two asshole hit the road if you'll do something for me in the morning."

"Should I be worried?" Dean asked.

Ryan smirked and pushed her glasses back up nose. Dean had never been more transfixed by a pair of accessories than he was with those glasses and the way they accentuated her pale skin and cobalt blue eyes. "It's nice to see you again, D." She said before closing her bedroom door in is face.

Yeah he was dreading this trip a hell of a lot more than he should have been. Not because he didn't want to be trapped in this cabin in the middle of nowhere with her. But because a part of him did.