[ heavy breaths rip through dean’s chest, as if trying to break free, but that constant weight sits on him still. he doesn’t cry, face contorted with emotion, pressed into the fluff of his pillow. he’s sure he won’t be getting any sleep tonight, body a line of tension with his hand pressed beneath the pillow, fingers grazing the familiar tears and folds of his mother’s picture. ]
[ sometimes the days get tough. sometimes he can’t hide it as well. he knows sam knew something was up, will probably call him on it tomorrow, but how the fuck can sam expect to understand? he didn’t have the relationship with their parents that dean did, and he doesn’t— doesn’t know. about what john said to him at the hospital. ]
[ his mom would know what to do, would know the right thing to do, if she was here. ]
the halls are quiet, as she moves down them, and the only sound that penetrates the buzzing silence around her ears is the brush of her bare feet on the carpet. tonight, she’s been tossing, and turning, trying to find a comfortable harbor in her mind. trying to sleep. to just forget. to be at peace.
but she’s not as oblivious as she wishes she could be. she sees. she feels. she knows dean’s hurting, and what she wants is to fix it. from experience, she knows that pain like that doesn’t just go away. nothing she says, or does is going to make it stop.
doesn’t mean she won’t try. she is her father’s daughter. she has too much determination, and she puts it toward all the wrong things. her hand lingers on the knob of the spare bedroom door. she waits. listening to the in breathe, and creak. finally, she finds some steel within herself to twist, and peer inside.
[ he’s pretty sure he knows anyways, despite the question, and all at once he’s back in lawrence, sammy bundled in his arms. all at once he can feel the heat of the fire on his face, can see the fear in his dad’s eyes. the sadness. the agony. the darkness. something died in john winchester’s eyes that night. dean noticed. ]
Four. Pretty sure your mom already told you the details.
[ every day that goes past leaves dean farther and farther away from her. ever day that passes, he forgets just a little more what she smelled like, or what it felt like when her hair tickled his chin, when she’d kiss him goodnight. her voice, the sweet lull it held when she rocked him to sleep, or the softness of her hands. ]
❝no, she didn’t. i asked, you know, but it’s your business. we harvelle’s don’t gossip.❞
there’s a lot of things that harvelle’s don’t do. they don’t cry. they don’t beg. they aren’t selfish, or pushovers, andthey don’t step down. under any circumstances.
no one tells you, growing up, that there are laws that come with name you’re given. they come from the people that have you, and they stay with you, always.
she gathers what little she knows in the forefront of her mind. presents it in the cool air between them, her voice soft, head turned toward him.
❝— i know she died, your mom. john became a hunter, then you boys… and that’s it. ❞
[ his and sammy’s, he means. his and sammy’s and dad and mom and jess, for chrissake. he wants a real goddamn home with a fireplace and a kitchen table and a big tall refrigerator. he wants a cluttered garage and wants to listen to his mom yell at his dad to clean his crap out of it before she does it herself. he wants. ]
[ dean falls silent, lets the heavy weight between them sit on his chest, but not once does it turn painful or uncomfortable, not once does it cut off his breathing. it’s just there, almost tangible, just out of reach. ]
[ wrong place, wrong time. ]
[ he wonders if he could go get a beer right now, or if that’ll ruin it. the stars, the air, the sky. he wonders what it’d be like, to see things like this ever morning, this beautiful. to wake up and see something beautiful every single day. something stunning, something so unreal. ]
❝— offer still stands.❞
she knows what he wants, and knows just as well as he does that he can’t have it. it's normal to want a home, it’s not normal not to have one. and she wants that for him and sam— normality.
wants it for herself, too. and for her mother. wants her father to be alive, wants her mother to smile like she used to. no monsters. no ghosts.
she chews on the skin of her bottom lip, eyes finding her hands. she wonders if they might’ve still met, had it all been different. some sick joke of the cosmos, twist of that old bitch Fate.
would it be different? would it be easy, like this?
[ he didn’t hear her come outside, didn’t see her sit down. it’s just a testament to how far inside his own head he is. he doesn’t make a move when she speaks, doesn’t give a notion that he even heard her. ]
[ dean knows she knows he did. he rocks back gently, thick fingers gripping either side of the rocking chair. he wonders how many years it has left before it breaks under him. ]
[ there’s a long silence, but it’s not uncomfortable nor tense. there’s no longer any blame between them about her father, nor any guilt from dean’s end. it’s easier for him to listen, now. she makes it easier to listen. ]
My dad used to take me out the back of whatever run-down motel we were stayin’ the week in, and he’d tell me that it don’t matter that we don’t have roots anymore. That the roads might change, but the stars never do. An’ I could watch ‘em forever, if I wanted to.
I miss—
[ if she looks closely, straight through the dark obscuring dean’s weathered face, she’ll see his eyes glossed over, locked stubbornly on the dancing twinkles in the sky. ]
I miss having a home.
[ his voice gets low and raspy at the last moments, and he stops rocking. ]
there’s the grind of the rocker on concrete, and then the absence of it, and remembers her father sitting exactly where he sits now. the similarities end about there, but the memory clips in her chest.
she doesn’t expect him to say a word— let alone something so personal. so raw. he’s not the same man he was inside, just hours ago. not in the slightest.
she turns her gaze onto his profile in the dark, as he speaks, and for a moment after, before turning back to the open air.
❝— you do have roots, you know. or you could, if you wanted. this place doesn’t ever change, and you can always come back.❞
it’s meant with all of her heart, but it feels cheap in her mouth. and she feels guilty. she knows what he means. knows it isn’t anything close to this.
[ the stars have been out for a long while; dean’s lost track of how long he’s been sitting out here for. he’s long since stopped thinking and instead focused on just being. ]
[ soaking up the world around him. ]
[ problem is, he’s got no idea where to begin. ]
she’s quiet over this way, ankles crossed, the feel of cold concrete leaking in through her jeans.
she’s hit with the fact the night’s no longer young. stars and the rare airplane wink over head, a cooler breeze blowing over the pair of them, on the ground. she'll keep her eyes trained upward, rather than on her hands.
❝when i was small, and when he was home, my dad used take me out here, like this. it was his thing, in place of bed time stories. right before i had to go up to bed. even in the snow.❞
It’s whispered, though no one is in sight. Her cheeks are growing hot, turning a faint pink in the low light. Jesus Christ, her hearts on it’s way out of her throat— God, she’s nervous.
She’ll run her fingers along the inside of his thigh, her lips pressed together near his ear in keen anticipation.
You’re under arrest for being such a cutie. Oh oops it seems I have forgotten my handcuffs I guess I’ll just have to hold your hand. You have the right to remain silent. Or you can talk. I like it when you talk. Okay now come with me please.
[ they’re playing each other like string instruments, and even if dean doesn’t remember all the notes, he’s still managing to make the song sound okay. when she turns her back, his expression softens until the swing of her hips calls him back. ]
Yeah, yeah, comin’, Harvelle.
[ he pushes himself off the bar and follows her. he knows this kitchen like the back of his hand— all those times he cooked dinner for her and ellen in the past year as a thank you for giving them a roof over their heads when they needed it, a reprieve from the life. let them pretend that they have roots outside their car. ]
[ every time he sat on that wooden chair outside while the moon hung high and let his father’s words echo through his skull, wondering when the right time to tell sam would be. if there will ever be a right time. ]
[ he swings into the kitchen after her and saunters over to the refrigerator, opening it and bending over to peer inside and wait for jo’s command. ]
C’mon, Jo. Talk to me.
[ his stomach can’t wait. ]
❝— sandwiches, dork. it’s not rocket science. just— uh, cut up some tomato, and lettuce. you know where the knives are.❞
she teases him coolly, splitting some six-inches with a bread knife. and… she’ll survey the goods, while he’s got his back turned. she’s only human after all, and he’s got a lot to offer.
not to mention, he makes a damn good burger. next time, permitting there is a next time, he’s cooking.
[ dean’s not dumb, he knows she knows he’s looking, likes what he sees, and he knows she knows she’s giving just as good as she’s getting. it’s almost a game to see how long both of them can go until they snap. ]
[ wrong place, wrong time. ]
[ he licks his lips slowly, peering down at her from beneath thick lashes, then flashes her a wider grin than before. ]
Yeah? Pretty sure I’m up to testing that out.
[ but seriously— the quickest way into dean winchester’s pantsbed heart is a well-cooked meal. that and cuddles, but he’ll never say that out loud. ]
if she was cut from a weaker cloth, she’d have already let him have his wicked way. she wants to, god, she wants to— and he knows it.
her soft gaze befits his mouth for a tight breath or two, before she turns, and walks toward the back.
❝ain’t a diner, winchester, either you’re coming, or you aren’t.❞
[ that ass in those pants. thank god ellen’s not around; he’s pretty sure she can hear the indecent thoughts in his head. every time he has them. ]
[ he saunters up to the bar, douchebag instincts wanting to crowd her in, but instead remembering she can kick his ass and leaning next to her. he flashes her a smile. ]
You got anything good to eat around here?
oh, she knows he’s looking. it accounts for the extra sway of her hips, the smile that she can’t exactly quiet.
the only thing better than looking at a cute guy, is having a cute guy look at you.
