Andrea Sanders, legendary hunter, is the kind of legend that only the brave and stupid dare to whisper about at night. After ditching the foster system at sixteen, she follows her father's footsteps into the only life she's ever known: hunting down...
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I woke with a start, sweat beading on my forehead and adrenaline still coursing in my veins. "It was just a dream." The whisper sounded small and frightened in the big dark room, so I took a slow breath and tried again. "It's just a dream."
But was it?
Just how close were we to my nightmares becoming reality? All I could think of was that awful nightmare. For once, it centered not on the past, but rather on the future. Deciding I needed a glass of water- or maybe something stronger- I swung my feet off of the side of the bed and forced myself to stand. Every shadow seemed to hide Lucifer, and every creak in the floor echoed Sam's screams. Clenching my fists, I pushed forward. Finally reaching the door, I pulled it open and jumped nearly a foot in the air while someone else tripped into the room.
"Dean?" I questioned, surprise evident in my voice. Light flooded in from the hallway, allowing me to take in the man on the ground.
He got to his feet while tenderly rubbing his behind. "Hey, Bubbles."
"What are you doing outside my door at," I glanced down at the watch that was always on my wrist, "three in the morning? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
He glanced behind him at the doorway, then looked back to me with a sheepish smile. For the first time, I was able to focus on what he had been doing. Orange streamers hung down like a curtain in front of my door, along with a few orange balloons. "Surprise?" He mumbled, a blush creeping up his neck as he held up the roll of streamer in his hand. I was speechless to say the least. Never in my life had anyone done something like this for me. To stay up late and decorate my door for my birthday was possibly the best birthday present he could have gotten me. An act so simple, yet so thoughtful. However, Dean took my silence as disapproval. With a few tugs on his t-shirt, the man began to ramble. "If you don't like it, it's fine. We can take it down. I just saw them when I made the grocery run earlier today and of course I thought of you since your favorite color is orange. I just thought it might be a good surprise to wake up to-"
I cut off his rambling as I threw my arms around his neck and held him tight in a meager attempt to explain just how much the gesture meant to me. "Thank you," I whispered. The room no longer felt hostile as it had after my dream, but safe now that Dean was there with me. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close, returning the hug and setting off a trail of sparks from where he held me.
We held on perhaps a moment longer than friends should, but eventually broke apart. "So, um," Dean rubbed the back of his neck, "what are you doing up?" He took in my still bedraggled appearance. "Was it the nightmares again?"
I ducked my head, trying to avoid his eyes: that candy apple green stare was my weakness. "Nah. I'm fine. Nothing to worry about." I tried to turn away, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back to him. His free hand slipped up to cup my cheek and bring my gaze to him once more.
