Days like this always seem to last forever. I hung up the phone after finalizing the last of Mr. Winchester's schedule for tomorrow & Wednesday. Wednesday…the day we'd bury his father. Twenty-four hours hadn't even passed yet since his death but influence and money get things done quickly. I shut down my computer & grabbed the updated itinerary & phone messages I had for Dean, Mr. Winchester. I already knew he wouldn't return 90% of the calls & had written the best non-generic "thank you for your condolences" cards I could manage.
Standing, I faced the large decorative mirror behind my desk and smoothed a makeup line under my left eye and tucked the wisp of hair behind my left ear that had fallen out of my messy bun. I straightened my black pencil skirt & white blouse then with a large sigh I walked towards Dean's office. I knocked lightly even though he had to know it was me. No one else would still be in the office at 9 pm, no one who had a family to go home to at least. Don't get me wrong, I'm not depressed about it. I wanted a successful career before I even considered meeting someone & settling down. I have no intentions of being a stay at home wife to anyone.
"Come in" Mr. Winchester's deep baritone voice rasps. I push the door forward and notice he is sitting in his oversized leather desk chair facing the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. "If you're ready, I have tomorrow's schedule to go over" I say as I walk towards the middle of the room. "Sure, Danielle…Let's do this" he begrudgingly huffs as he turns his chair & stands to walk towards the sitting area in his office.
I now notice he's holding a mostly empty glass of what I can safely assume is whiskey. He must have caught my eyes shift towards his glass because he lightly shakes it, "fill me up"? I smile & nod as I reach for the glass. "Make you one too" he instructs as I walk towards the bar. I feel his gaze on me momentarily and suddenly feel very self conscious. This man just lost his Father, the man whose footsteps he followed, who turned him into the man he is today, a man who was loved but also feared. John Winchester had his flaws and Dean Winchester knew this better than anyone else.
The fragility of the situation hits me and I remind myself to choose my words carefully. Our usual banter just doesn't seem appropiate. In the 4 years I've worked for SPN Weapons Systems, a year directly for Dean, I've seen how much John Winchester controls every move and decision this company makes. John could have stepped down from CEO years ago, taken his retirement package, bought a small island and never had another care in the world. After the death of his wife work was all he had left, I think. So he stayed in charge, came into the office six days a week, sometime seven and made Dean do the same.
I walk back to the thick, mahogany leather couch and drop the filled glass in front of Dean, take a seat, then take a long swallow of my drink, Johnnie Walker Blue King George whiskey, around $540 a bottle. This shit is good.
"I tried to keep tomorrow from being too hectic but I'm scared I wasn't very successful" I say as Dean peruses the timeline. Sitting this close to him I'm hit with a stronger smell of liquor. He's obviously had more than one glass already. However I can still lightly smell his normal cologne, like spice & oak."It is what it is" he spits out between sips of whiskey. I gulp mine again and struggle for the right words. Silence befits me instead. Placing the sheet down on the coffee table Dean laughs, "Go figure the man would run my life even after his death". I give him a half smile and a short huff of amusement. Suddenly he drops his head in his hands, his elbows rested on his knees as he leans forward. "How am I going to do this?" he asks and I don't know if he's talking about tomorrow or running the company alone. I suppose either way my answer is close to the same. "You'll find a way." I pause then softly add "Don't be afraid of failing…because you won't. It's impossible". He snorts and looks up over his fingertips. His eyes are glassy and I know he needs to quit drinking. The answers he is looking for aren't at the bottom of that bottle.
I silently stand and grab his glass from the table and start to walk by when he surprises me grabbing my wrist and whispering "Wait". At first I think he's going to fight me on not drinking anymore but instead he opens my palm and places a light kiss in the middle of my palm then holds it firmly to his own cheek. Tears pool in my eyes as I realize he's desperate for some sort of comfort. I place his glass back on the table. I'm trying to swallow the lump in my throat but my mouth is dry. Swallowing all sense of proprietary along with along with any fears of consequences, I step in between his parted legs. Removing my hand from his cheek, I wrap both arms around his shoulders. He doesn't even look up at me but instead wraps both arms around me and pushes his face hard into my eye level stomach. His breath is hot through my thin blouse and I can't resist the urge of running one of my hands through the back of his hair. My emotions are torn somewhere between lust and the need to protect Dean from his own demons.
Seconds, minutes pass and Dean finally turns his head to the side but squeezes his arms tighter. I slowly start to slide downward, positioning myself to where I am sitting on his right leg. His head is tucked under mine, pressed against my chest as we slump down together against the back of the couch. He doesn't let me go, his grip ever relentless. I don't know what I'm doing but I know I want to be here as long as he needs me, however he needs me.
Sitting in silence I finally hear his breathing even out. He's asleep. I could try to wiggle out now but instead I stay, close my own eyes and give in to exhaustion.