Sam was sleeping soundly when Dean left. So soundly, in fact, that he didn't wake when his brother slipped out the door. Dean was grateful – both for the fact that he got away undetected, and that his little brother was finally getting a decent night's rest. It had been so long since he'd had one, and Dean was relieved. It wasn't like Dean himself hadn't been sleeping. No, of course not. Dean was fine. He was [i]always[/i] fine. It wasn't like his head was constantly pounding, his body exhausted, his mind completely tattered. His pain was so intense, now, he'd managed to find a way to almost physically separate it from himself, until it was like a living, breathing entity. Problem was, he'd never be able to escape it, no matter what he did. And so it was, on nights like these when the ache in his heart started to increase more than he could bear in the silence of the late night, he got into his Impala and drove.
Tonight was no exception. He didn't bother with a seat belt or the radio, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. Whispers of his conscience echoed in his head though he tried to block them out. Michael. Lucifer. Vessels. Destiny. Sam. His grip on the wheel tightened, his foot pressing harder on the gas as he sped down the road. His jaw was set, tight, and perhaps if it were not for sheer luck (or the ever-hated, so-called "destiny") Dean would not have seen the car, parked near the gate of the small town's park. He slowed to a stop immediately, letting Metallicar idle as he peered closer at the model. Yep. It was the same crappy car he'd thought it was – dark green, '96, Taurus. Something flickered in his eyes as he turned off the ignition and climbed out. She was here.
His boots crunched on the leaves as he strode through the iron-clad gates, his leather jacket rustling quietly along with his movements. He was on edge, aware, like he always was, and it didn't take long for him to find her. She was sitting on a bench overlooking the small lake. The moonlight was bouncing off the water and illuminating everything around it with an eerie glow – her crimson hair included. Dean stopped a good few paces behind her and waited. She turned. Her grey eyes glittered against the light, and he didn't miss the way her lips turned up slightly at the edges. She was happy to see him, no matter how tired her smile looked.
"Hi," was all she said, and that was enough for Dean. He swallowed, smiled a small smile. "Hey."
His gaze fell upon a little girl, curled up in the spring grass upon a quilt. She was sleeping soundly. Dean didn't know who she was, but now was not the time to ask. He wasted no time in moving to sit beside her, and she looked back out over the landscape once more. His green eyes lingered on her face, the familiarity of it, and a fraction of his pain dulled in just the slightest. "I figured you'd find me," she said after a moment, and he remained quiet. "I heard about Jo and Ellen. I'm sorry." Dean looked away. Names. Just more names added to the list of the fallen. His fault. Too much to bear. The wind shifted and tossed the ends of her cherry hair around her pale face. He watched, didn't say anything. Let her do the talking, like she'd always done. "And I heard… about Sam. And… and you…" Her eyes moved to his and he saw a sorrow in them that was much deeper than what he'd remembered. "When you got back I wanted to see you. I wanted to see you so badly, but…" She broke off, and he frowned. Something was wrong. "But?" he asked, shifting a bit.
Her shoulders were tense, as though she harbored the weight of the world upon them. He knew that feeling, all too well. "Some things came up." She said almost shortly, and Dean let it be. He knew her well enough to know that she'd tell him eventually. He snorted. "That's putting it lightly," he muttered, and a grin twitched at her lips. He looked down at her and felt suddenly tired. Much more tired than he had in a long time. He wanted to follow her home and sleep in her king-sized bed with her and wake up to breakfast in the morning. He wanted to hear her laughter, laughter he'd always adored in the years he'd known her. He wanted to love her. But he couldn't do any of those things, and they both knew it. So here they were.
The little girl snuffled in her sleep and the woman's eyes cast down to her. Immediately a protective shadow crossed over her face and she leaned forward, reaching out to push a few strands of blonde hair off the toddler's forehead. She was small and fragile-looking, couldn't be more than five. Her lashes were long and her golden hair curly. She looked like a porcelain doll. Dean looked at her. "Who's the kid?"
Her face was passive for a moment but then she frowned slightly. "Emily." She said then, and sat back in her original position as the child stilled once more. "Her name is Emily. She… she's my brother's daughter. My niece." Dean nodded in understanding. "Are you watching her tonight or something? Kinda a weird sleepover idea."
The shadows on her face surprised Dean. She shook her head. "She's my responsibility now." She said softly. "She has been for nearly a year. Christopher and Sarah died."
He blinked in surprised, his eyes flickering once more to the small child. Her parents were dead? So that meant she was raising her. He looked back to her. "She's what came up." He stated, and she nodded. "I took her and hid. I felt it was the safest thing to do." Dean nodded. "And you were probably right."
Her face looked tired, dark circles gathering under her eyes. "You look how I feel," he mused, and she nodded. "Forty years in Hell is a long time." Her words were soft, filled with heartache, and something in his sore heart twisted painfully. He tore his gaze away from her, staring with unseeing eyes out across the moonlit lake. His jaw tensed. "Not long enough." His words were tight, laced with anguish. He did not expect the feather-light touch of her hand on the back of his, fleeting. His skin tingled at the sensation and it sent shivers down his spine.
"I wish things could have been different," she said and then suddenly she was moving, kneeling down to scoop the tiny child into her arms, blanket and all. Dean rose, too, his expression unreadable as he looked down to her. It was amazing how such a tiny little woman could make his heart pound so rapidly for reasons he didn't even understand. Her smile was tight and forced. "It's getting cold," she said. "Go and rest, all right? I… I'll be here, if you need me."
He held her gaze for a long moment before nodding once and turning to walk back to the car. So many things going through his mind – why here, why now, after all this time? Since Hell his thoughts had wandered to her occasionally but he'd resigned himself to the fact that she was gone. And now, he realized, that she never had been. Not really.
Dean stopped and turned to face her, his jaw tensed fiercely against the heart that was in his throat. "Would you have loved me?" he asked, and was surprised at the words. "If… if all of this wasn't happening… if we were normal people and we could… would you?"
She was quiet, the tiny slip of her silhouette standing silently against the dark backdrop of the night sky. She was thinking, and he knew it. After a moment, she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and wet her lips. "I've always loved you, I think." she said, and his heart ached. "And I don't think that I'll ever stop."
There was no awkwardness. He'd known. He swallowed once, hard, and nodded. "If we make it out of this alive - "
She held up one hand. "Don't." He stopped immediately, continuing to watch her. She was looking at him, and smiling, but her eyes were glistening with unshed moisture. "Just… Just promise you'll call."
Dean smiled, then, surprised when a bit of liquid heat welled up behind his own eyes. He reached forward, gently resting his large, calloused palm upon the softness of her cheek. He felt her tilt, leaning into his touch lightly. "I promise." He said, his eyes upon her face. "I'm going to protect you. I just… I'm going to. No matter what it takes."
He turned and walked away before he could take in the softness of her smile, the way her pink lips beckoned him, or the subtle lilac scent of her auburn hair. He could feel her eyes upon him until he was out of sight. He started up the Impala and drove back to the motel, bypassing the bar along the way.
Sam was still sleeping soundly when he came in.
