Summary: Bela drops in on the boys while they're asleep
Pairings: Light Bela/Dean, Bela/Sam
Note: This is what happens when you're OVERCAFFEINATED and can't sleep.
Spoilers: Dream a Little Dream of Me (Yes, I've only just now watched it.)
It was too easy, really, as everything always was with the Winchesters. So focused were their razor-sharp intellects on saving Bobby, they never gave her reason for helping them more than the most cursory of glances. Anything for Bobby. That was a credo one could bandy about with these boys. Saving others was their language, their special gift to the world, their currency. Bela had always preferred cash, herself.
And it was far too much fun, as well, to try a little of the dream root herself, slip into Sam's head, mess with his mind a little. She had to be sure of her product, hadn't she? The hardest part was not even looking at Sam when she'd shown up in the flesh, uttering the exact same phrases. She could almost feel his embarrassment from the doorway -- he was, sadly, unable to stand up to greet her.
They' d kicked her out and once she heard their bickering die out -- of course, she'd gotten the adjoining room -- she slung her little bag of tricks over her shoulder and picked the lock to their room with ridiculous ease. Sam and Dean had drunk the nasty stuff down, and were dead to the world, each passed out on his own respective island of a bed. They actually looked quite peaceful, their slumbering façades showing no sign of the rather predictable subconscious battle that was surely taking place.
The safe posed a more cumbersome obstacle than a simple lock. The expert safecracker among them, Dean, was currently chasing monsters in his sleep, but Bela had oodles of time. So much time, in fact, she took the rare opportunity to examine the Winchester lads up close. She approached Sam first. The dream had been quite lovely. She wouldn't mind continuing it to its natural conclusion, she thought, as she ran her index finger down one of Sam's enormous paws of a hand, shivering slightly as she recalled how it had felt in her dream.
But Dean, now. Dean was the one she really wanted to chase into her dreams and keep there, tied up if need be. His face was actually more handsome when he wasn't contorting it into one of those silly expressions in an effort to channel Bruce Willis, or whomever it was that he thought he was emulating in his more heroic moments. "Ahhh, Dean," she said, tracing the line of those delicious, full lips. If only she could relocate Mr. Dean Winchester to her room and have her extremely naughty way with him right now... How sweetly delicious would that be?
She turned with a reluctant sigh to the safe. Luckily, it was a rather shoddy one that even she could crack. She felt almost reverent as she reached for the Colt. Oh, the money she could get for this little treasure. The thought made her warm all over. She fitted it into the case she'd had made and popped the whole thing into her bag and she became just another girl with a fashionable purse. No one could possibly guess what she carried, or its worth.
It seemed only right to thank the boys somehow. Even if they'd never be aware of her gesture, she was the kind of woman who enjoyed going through the motions. A quick, soft kiss to each slumbering sibling -- could she help it if the one she gave Dean was nearly twice as long? -- and she was on her way.
"Sweet dreams," she whispered as she closed the door shut behind her.
He did not think of Bela like that. Having sex with her -- even just in a dream -- had to mean something else, be some kind of symbol or warning because, hello, she had shot him for Chrissake. Dean might go in for that kind of angst-ridden crap and develop inappropriate crushes on demons and whatnot, but not Sam. Okay, well, crush wasn't the right word for what Dean would get, more like "blind raging lust that completely obliterated any thought of his own fucking safety." And that just wasn't Sam. So he put it out of his head whenever he was in the same room as Bela. Itdidnthappenitwasjustadream he told himself over and over but somehow, he swore, it was like she knew and was trying hard not to laugh at him.
Only after they realized Bela had stolen the Colt did it dawn on Sam that his random dream hadn't come from some stray hormone surge but from Bela's devious little mind, conveniently timed to distract him from her real motives. She didn't want Sam, just the gun. There was no money to be had in banging the Winchesters, just in stealing from them.
It didn't mean, though, that he didn't remember how sinfully dextrous dream Bela had been, how her skin had felt under his hands. Some ideas, once planted, took hold. He'd root that one out soon. Maybe tomorrow. He hadn't slept in two days and his bed was calling and so were some incredibly dirty dreams.
It took him maybe a minute to pack, another 10 to check that none of his other weapons were missing. Only the Colt, thank God. Only the Colt.
Dean was going to take great pleasure in hunting down that bitch and getting their gun back. He should use it on her, maybe. What was the world coming to when you could trust a demon over a human, anyway? He put the thoughts of himself with black eyes out of his mind. That was not going to happen.
As he drove, he kept feeling Sam's stare out of the corner of his eye; it was making him as jumpy as when he'd been mainlining coffee for two days.
"What?" he yelled finally.
"Nothing," Sam shrugged, turning to stare out his own damn window.
"All right, then."
Sam had to know there was no way in hell he'd dream about a friggin' picnic with wine and some chick saying, "I love you." Right? Damn right.