The Gift
By elderwitty
A/N: Turns out that my oneshot The Gift had more to it. Who knew? Reposting first chapter with some minor changes. Set during the second season.
Disclaimer: None of it's mine, including the plot. Darn bunnies steered it where they would - I had no control. It was like trying to turn a cruise ship with a row boat while tilting at windmills, so I gave up and just typed what they told me. I did come up with "68."
reading had beta duties, and a fabulous job she did. She made this clearer, deeper, and better than I could've hoped to do in a million tries on my own. Thanks, reading.
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Chapter One
When they race into the alley chasing her screams they find her trying to fight off the spirit with an articulated skeleton. Turns out she was rescuing it from the dumpster where the office jerk had thrown it.
"Why? It's not like you know whose bones they were."
"Even so, it's disrespectful." Can't argue with that.
Right after that she starts hyperventilating and Sam has that soft spot so it's all his doing she ends up back at the motel to process and recover from the discovery that shit is real and it's out there and sometimes it's after you.
The skeleton rides back in the trunk.
"Do you have family to go to?" "Not here in town."
"Work friends?" "Just acquaintances."
"Friend friends?" "Not really. I just moved here a few months ago."
They send her to wash her face and hopefully calm down some more, and discuss what to do with her. Too late to stop it they see her leave the bathroom and collapse white-faced and fully dressed onto the middle of the bed. The only bed – the motel had only had single king rooms left.
Whatever. It's late, she's out, and they're tired. They'll take her home in the morning. Dean takes the door side as usual, leaving Sam to face her…and take off at least her shoes.
20 minutes later
'Just lay quietly & sleep will come,' lied Dr. Lying-Fucker, MD. If only my head would stop throbbing, or spinning, I could fall asleep for real and get rid of this headache--god that thing was real--who are these guys--how the hell am I ever going outside again--fucking headache--hey, they smell good--fucking brain twirl--the tall one's watching me, I know it-- calm down--breathe--in--out--concentrate--relax--stop THINKING, go to sleep, and ditch the headache. Fucking brain twirl!
So, okay, not gonna sleep, maybe ever again-let's SNAP the eyes open and catch him looking. Damn, he's right there! See the startled guilty blink and smile to say – it's okay.
Quick frown and a glance at my forehead – Headache?
Blink, nod and rueful smile – Oh, yeah. Raised eyebrows and tilted head – You, too?
Resigned nod and almost shrug – Latest in a long line.
Grimace and sympathetic look – Sorry to hear.
A glance shot over my shoulder - ?
Furrowed brow and confused look – Huh?
Same glance, eyebrows peak and mischievous glint – Wanna mess with him?
Slow smile and mirror mischief – Love to.
Odd doing the wordless thing with someone I just met. Dean needs payback for that bucket of cold water 'training exercise' and it might distract from our headaches. I see her grin fade and watch perplexed as everything she has goes still and slack. Maybe the wires got crossed. I thought she knew what I meant-no, there she goes. Turning over to Dean, cheek to shoulder, knee to hip, arm thrown not even a little gently across his stomach and arms. No way he sleeps through that or lets it slide.
Ugh! What the hell? The chick is grabby. Understandable, but not allowed. I nudge her with my forearm, trapped between our bodies and her total lack of boundaries. No response. Again, a little harder. "Mmngh." "Hey, you're on me." Nothing. What the hell? Nudge again. "Mmngh?" "You can't be on my arms-I need them." One eye cracks opens to assess the situation, then closes again as she moves her hand...about time. To my shoulder. Damn it!
Oh, my god, she's playing him perfectly. When he finally convinces her to back up she whispers something.
With my newly freed right hand I give a good poke in the ribs-"Hey." "Wha?" "Get off me." As she rocks up to scoot back hip and then shoulder she mutters, "such a baby," and backs off about four inches.
What did she say? He looks shocked. She's on her right side, her back to me, slightly curled, hands at her face.
I look over at a familiar scene with a new player; elbow braced on bed, line of arm leading up to heel of hand pressed against bridge of nose, palm and fingers splayed upward into hair. Headache. Add to this right hand clutching left wrist, tight enough to whiten the skin on either side of her ring. Shit. Headache; seeking comfort & protection. And I kicked the puppy. At least Sammy didn't see it.
Don't move. Don't laugh. How is she making him look so guilty and almost ashamed? She's just lying there.
I reach out and touch her shoulder – she jerks back, nearly hitting Sam, "What?! I'm not touching you." "C'mere," I say. "What?" "Come here," grasping her wrist and pulling her over to me. No scooting, so she's almost flat on her stomach; her left side aligned with mine, her arm now across my chest and shoulder, not quite a hug. Her face in my neck as she relaxes and sleepily whispers, "I said it wrong." She's not my type; I like them taller, younger, skinnier- but we're connected along the length of our bodies and breasts on my arm and chest are always good, so I'm not fully listening. "I meant 'babe'." I freeze. She's a pervy older chick and she's all over me. I tense to throw her off, then feel/hear a low rumbling – she's laughing! All slow and wicked; lifting her head and looking right at me now, "You are so easy," before lying back down into the curve of my neck.
Dean's gone still. She laughs and says, "You are so easy," and he gets even more tense as she settles back in. What was I thinking? I don't know her. This is going so very wrong and I'm gonna catch hell for it. Now she's asking if he wants her off him. Good call. She shifts and leans in closer yet to whisper something I can't catch even a corner of.
"I guess you want me off now?" Smart girl. She starts to move, then leans in so close I feel her nose bend against my skull as she breathes, "Tough," into my ear. She threads her right arm under my neck and makes herself comfortable. Her front now pressed all along my side, left hand petting my hair and ending up just behind my right ear. Her thumb keeps stroking my hair - with the grain, against- and it's so hypnotic I stop thinking about kicking her ass. All she's doing is touching me – human contact not resulting from fighting or fucking or damage repair, and it's been so long that I can't remember when it last happened.
Fuck. She's the Dean whisperer.
TBC