Hell's Angel (A Supernatural Fanfiction) {2}

Chapter 6

Libby hummed along to the song as she closed her book with a sigh. "Finally finished with that stupid series?" Dean asked with a grunt, turning down the radio. Libby chuckled and nodded.

"It was actually pretty good," she admitted. "Chuck did a good job. I mean there's a lot he could fix, but ya know; humans and their mistakes." Sam let out a snort and turned around to stare at the redhead. "By the way, Sam, Dean really wasn't kidding about your track record with girls," she teased. Sam just glared at her making Libby laugh. Dean felt himself smile, but didn't let either of them notice it.

"Gee, thanks for reminding me," Sam said sarcastically, rolling eyes. "At least I don't live off of one night stands." Sam shot a pointed look at his brother who just smiled proudly.

"And those nights will be the best nights of all of those girls' lives," Dean boasted. Libby shook her head with a small smile.

"I'm bored now. Any chance he wrote any other books?"

"No," the boys both yelled. Libby raised her eyebrows in shock. "Hey, uh, there's this app on your phone that you can read off of. Someone told me about it, but I think you'd like it. It had both fanfiction and regular stories on it written by people all over the world. You should check it out," Sam said. Libby nodded and grabbed her phone.

"What's it called?"

"Wattpad, I think." She nodded and typed in the word, an orange app appearing. She downloaded it and waited before creating an account. "Tell me how it is."

"You two are such nerds," Dean said. "Tell me again how it didn't work out." An awkward silence took over the atmosphere on the Impala, Libby biting her bottom lip and looking up at Sam. He cleared his throat and turned around in his seat. "Sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Whatever," Sam grumbled.

~*~

Dean sat in a chair in the motel room, tying his shoe, while Sam stood in front of the mirror. Libby walked out of the bathroom, wearing only a bra and unbuttoned jeans, when the closet door flung open and a man in a blue suit jumped out. "Dammit! I forgot my-" She stopped, her eyes widening when she saw the man. Libby lunged for her sword on the bed.

"Which one of you is John Winchester?" the man demanded. No one said anything. "Please, time is of the essence! Which of you is John Winchester?"

"Uh, neither," Sam said. The three of them were all a little freaked out. A random man had just jumped out of their motel closet.

"That's impossible. That's absolutely... What did I do wrong?" he said, wiping the blood from his nose.

"Who the hell are you, mister?" Dean yelled, advancing towards him.

"Not now. I'm thinking." Libby grabbed the man and shoved him against the wall, holding him there with an arm across his chest. "Please. I can assure you there's no need for violence. One of you must know John Winchester." Libby wondered how he knew Sam and Dean's father, but she just tightened her hold on him.

"I'll tell you what – when one of us falls out of your closet, then you can ask the questions," Sam said angrily. Libby nodded in agreement and Dean just glared at the man. Libby didn't look threatening or presentable at all. In fact, she almost looked like she woke up from a one-night stand. Her hair was wet and tangled, sticking to her neck from her shower, and her jeans were unbuttoned and her shirt missing. It was an odd sight for a man from 1958 to see, but so was a man falling out of your closet unannounced.

"Yes, my apologies. Is it absolutely essential, ma'am, that you keep your hands on me?" he questioned, his gaze briefly dropping to her chest. Libby shot him a threatening glare, forcing his gaze to travel back up to her eyes, and released him roughly and stepped back. "Thank you. Gentlemen and Lady, in the absence of any and all other explanations, I'm afraid this has been a marvelous, tragic misunderstanding." He buttoned up his coat. "I'll be on my way." He started to walk away when Sam stopped him, stepping in front of him.