So, I realized that I just needed to get out of my head space and just WRITE. I mean, I'm a writer, I should be able to do that, but I was so focused on aligning the actual stories and "staying in character" that it wasn't enjoyable for me. This is the result of such thinking, enjoy and support, please!

Red and blue lights splatter chaotically about, jerking in and out of focus against glistening puddles of rain, reflected up toward the dark mouth of the sky. Dean Winchester, a kink tightening against the muscles of his neck, stares up at the congestion of inflated dark clouds hung ominously over his head.

"At least the rain stopped."

Prompted by the soft voice, Dean turns his head, only slightly, commenting in reply, "Yeah? Somehow I get the feeling it's only started."

The warmth of her presence stirs his awareness, every cell of his being acutely aware of the owner of the voice, shoulder muscles tightening and clenched, prepared for the temptation of her touch. Sure enough, the soothing heat of a hand claps against his shoulder, accompanied with a whisper slowed with hesitation, yet firm with conviction, "Dean, it's going to be alright. Remember, that's what you told me?"

"I know Hales," he chokes out, lips tightening closed, his attempts to shut up futile at best, "but this time it's different, this time I don't know if I can believe it."

The wail of a siren has not yet pierced the silence, for now the stretching columns of headstones and spongy grass mashed beneath their feet was their own slice of the planet to cherish, even if it was a cemetery. Yet, not even the tranquil, desolate stretch of land can convince Dean Winchester that it would be okay.

Suddenly, her hands venture lower down, briefly resting against his torso, before fingers curl around his jacket, leather creaking as she squeezes tight. With a slight nudge, Haley manages to spin him around, staring him down with large, soulful, chocolate eyes.

"You know it here," he index finger jabs against his chest, signifying his heart, "because that's where I like to think I am, and that's where I like to think everything is okay with you too."

Unable to hold back, Dean smirks, resisting slightly to her touch, rocking back unsteadily in his heels, "Have you met me?"

"Somedays." Haley responds insightfully, her wide browns crashing with searching greens, eyes gravitating around each other as they both explore the immensity of the situation so suddenly presented to him. "Somedays you're exactly who I know you can be."

Slowly beginning to give in to her, Dean leans forward, swiftly swiping a bouncing blonde curl behind her ear, the touch so subtle and brief that if one were to blink, they probably would have missed it. "But I can't bring this crap to you. It's ugly and violent, and you don't have to be a part of it."

"Have to, no," Haley mumbles, creeping closer, her body pressed against his, not a breath of air separating them, "want to, yes."

"The last thing," Dean snarls, not about to back down from the point he's attempting to convey, no matter the consequences, "the last thing I would choose is this life."

"But Dean," she shakes her head, bottom lip sinking under her upper, hands somehow clenching even tighter around his jacket, as if she's holding onto him to prevent a sudden gust of air from flinging him out of her arms forever, "what you don't understand is I'm not choosing the life, I'm choosing you."

Reaching up, arms weighted with indecision, Dean's fingers curl around her hands, gently pulling them free from around his jacket, whispering low and choked, "No, Hales, you're the one that hasn't understood it yet. I am the life and there isn't a difference."

"Tell me about them," Haley pleads, pausing before gulping down a knot of indecision, adding, "Tell me about the demons, the vampires, the witches. Tell all of it to me."

Faintly, off in the distance, the screech of the emergency siren jolts through the quiet, intruding on their piece of the world, prompting Dean to mumble, "Not here."

Somehow, even when he wants to look away, the magnetic effect of her wide brown eyes snares him in place as they flit to and fro, traveling between both his contrasting hazel pupils of mystery, devoid of emotion. "Not here," she questions, voice sharpened, "or not ever?"

A slight shrug hunkering his shoulders against his neck, Dean admits, "I'm not sure, I haven't decided."

While the ominous sound of the sirens intensifies, Haley eventually brings herself to nod, "Fine, but if you're running, I'm coming with you."

Brow furrowing tight against the bridge of his nose, Dean inquires, "You really think we could pull something like that off?"

A slight shrug providing visual aide to her verbal response, Haley states, not a quiver in her tone hinting that she has any doubts, "It's worth a shot."

"Really? You'd leave Tree Hill?" When she doesn't utter a sound, he adds, "I've been coming here for four years and not once did you say you wanted to leave."

A slight grin lifting the side of her left cheek, Haley answers wisely, "I guess I just got tired of waiting for you to ask." The wail of the sirens has risen to a near shout, demanding immediate action. Haley's hand slips into his, fingers tangled around each other, grasp tight.

And I'm never letting go.