Swift as Summer Lightening

By Denubia

Lisa Braeden loved puzzles; and it was for this reason that she had yet to kick Dean Winchester to the curb.

He was the ultimate puzzle.

Caring and laughing one minute, melancholic and reticent the next, and no matter how many beers he had before bed, he always woke up screaming.

She wasn't an idiot. Despite their shared history, accepting Dean into her bed right after he'd shown up, exhausted and half-mad with grief, would have been the height of lunacy. So, she deflected with a vague smile the searching inquiries of her friends as they mingled about the yard, awaiting Dean's now famous burgers.

Because, on those occasions that she didn't awake to the hoarse cry of "Sammy!" from the next room, it was another name that he implored in the dark.

"Cas"

Whoever this person (Cassidy? Catherine? Cassie?) was, she had meant a lot to Dean, still meant much to him, and it was that name that held Lisa back, despite Dean's half-hearted attempts at flirtation.

Her live-in puzzle flipped another burger high in the air to the cheers of Ben and his friends, a smirk of satisfaction gracing his lips. Two months had done him good; the lines around his eyes had smoothed and his shoulders loosened. She let her gaze wander around the yard, the party was going well, despite the ominous dark clouds to the east that threatened rain. Given the humidity, she didn't doubt that her guests would be as pleased as she would at a break in the weather. Even Dean had forgone his multiple layers for an open button down over a tank top, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Maybe, Lisa reflected, she would even be able to convince him to bare his arms in the face of the growing heat.

She watched as Tim Hayworth walked up behind Dean and slapped him on the back and she marveled at the miracle of Dean's grin, even as his hand moved slowly away from his pocket. They were going to have to have another talk about knives.

"Well, well, Dean Winchester. How domestic."

The woman appeared to be in her mid-twenties with her black hair pulled back in a ponytail. There was something vulgar in the twist of her lips.

Whoever she was, she had managed with one phrase to destroy two months of Lisa's efforts. Dean turned slowly, shoulders wound like springs and eyes tense and alert, gaze slowly sizing up the woman and her friends. The leather-clad group of five was a black hole against the bright summer garb of their guests, most of who appeared to be distancing themselves instinctually from the strangers.

Lisa looked to Dean as he stared at the woman and recognition dawned in his eyes, cold and hard. The tension of impending conflict hung heavy in the air, and Lisa turned to find Ben. He was already herding his friends towards the house, away from the group. That was good.

Her eyes were drawn back to Dean as he stepped past her, eyes still riveted on the woman. He was muttering urgently under his breath, too low for Lisa to catch much of what he was saying. In fact, she only managed to catch one word as Dean moved to stand between the woman and the rest of the party.

"…Cas…"

The suspicion that had planted itself at the back of her mind bloomed.

"Come now, Dean, not even a hello? We've all just been dying to meet you, the-man-who-fucked-with-the-plan".

Dean shrugged, seemingly careless, but Lisa knew enough to read the set of his shoulders, and catch the slow movement towards his pocket that the shrug was meant to mask.

"Wasn't much of a plan. Your boss didn't seem to think much of it either; in fact, I'd say he owes me one, which begs the question, why the fuck are you here?"

The woman bared her teeth, face ugly with rage. The group behind her tensed their eyes bright with madness in the sudden darkness of the storm clouds. One of the men shifted forward, a knife in his fist, only to be stopped by the woman.

"Crowley is not our boss. He is nothing but a trumped-up cross-roads demon playing at king. The real king is gone and our sister murdered, stolen from us by you and your traitorous brother."

"Ah," said Dean, drawing the blade from his pocket and flipping it open. "I take it then, that you didn't come for my burgers."

Stillness shattered into motion.

There was a cry from the assembled guests as the woman lunged, dagger flashing the beginning of the dance.

Dean's skill was unmistakable and terrifying as he weaved in and out of range of his attackers, knife sliding under guards and between ribs. However, despite his efforts, his attacks did nothing more than temporarily incapacitate his opponents who rose again, and again, despite what Lisa would have sworn were fatal stab wounds.

Lisa, like the rest of her guests remained frozen in place, stuck between the need to escape, and the morbid desire to know the outcome of the duel. Dean, Lisa noticed, did his best to retain his defensive position between them and his attackers as he withdrew slightly.

"Crux sancta sit mihi lux non draco…" (1)

Shrieks of rage rang out as the fighting intensified and it became clear to Lisa that what she had witnessed before had been a mere prelude; a pack of wolves playing with their food. Dean was clearly overwhelmed and growing desperate, his eyes flicking briefly to hers.

It was a sign of weakness that did not go unnoticed.

Two of the men broke from the group, foul smiles playing at their lips as they advanced upon Lisa and her guests, knives held with incongruous gentleness.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and there was no more party and there were no more guests. There were only the approaching knives and the dissolution of reason as Lisa recognized her situation.

Prey.

She snapped around into a run, eyes and arms seeking her son. She had just grasped him when her strained senses informed her of the approach of birds. She flinched toward the sound, mind frantically predicting talons and urging flight, but she saw only a man.

He spared her not a glance as he strode past her, gripping the necks of the predators and throwing them to the ground as they screamed, faces suffused in light.

The impossible man in the trench coat withdrew his own blade just as Dean turned.

Their eyes met for a single moment and then the silver blade was in Dean's hand. He lunged at the dark-haired woman, knocking her to the ground, the blade poised above her chest. She writhed viciously, lashing her knife into Dean's thigh as she fought against his downward momentum.

Desperation stripped any resemblance of humanity from the two remaining as they threw themselves recklessly forward. One charged the other in the trench coat while his partner lunged at Dean.

She seemed to have lost all rational thought as, instead of stabbing him, she began slashing ineffectively at his back, cursing wildly.

At the first touch of the blade Dean arched, screaming, but as the blows continued and his outer shirt fell away in ribbons, his shoulders rounded under the knife, working the silver blade down with renewed force.

Something flashed out of the corner of Lisa's eye and then the woman beneath Dean was glowing too, eyes and mouth bleeding light, the silver blade protruding from her chest.

The woman behind Dean froze, a low moan escaping her lips, dagger raised to strike.

It fell harmlessly to the ground to be joined by its owner, her eye sockets smoking softly.

The sudden stillness was broken only Dean's harsh breath as he made to stand, a motion abruptly terminated by the knife still embedded in his thigh. He pitched forward with a grunt and the man in the trench coat was there. Lisa flinched in fear, a small cry escaping her lips as the hands that not moments ago had killed with a single touch now gripped Dean tightly in support. She moved forward instinctually, to do what; she wasn't sure, as those deadly hands repositioned Dean carefully, avoiding the torn landscape of his back. She stopped short at Dean's sigh,

"Cas"

"I need to remove the blade, Dean."

Dean's response was muffled, his face buried in the shoulder of the other man, but his nod was unmistakable.

"On the count of the three, one, two…"

"Fuck!"

The impossible man's lips quirked as Dean swore viciously into his shoulder, his hand coming to rest on the side of Dean's neck, fingers stroking absentmindedly.

A clap of thunder sounded so loud it reverberated in Lisa's bones and she glanced at the darkened sky. Returning her gaze to Dean, she was met with an unbroken canvas of skin, blood spattered but whole beneath the tattered plaid.

Lightening flashed, sudden and glorious, illuminating for an instant the couple crouched in the yard.

Wings. Circled protectively, a shield of feathers.

And in that moment, as rain came crashing down around them, Lisa Braeden knew that the puzzle of Dean Winchester had already been solved.

He had simply been missing a piece.

(1) Source: Supernatural Fan Wiki ( /page/Exorcism)