If you're here because you read You and I (Collide) and were waiting for part 2 to begin, well, here you go! :) If you're here because you saw the link and thought it sounded interesting, welcome! While I try to make each part of the story stand on its own, I definitely recommend reading You and I (Collide) first, to better understand how the characters are growing and what the story is doing.

Crossposted to Ao3. Prologue contains mentions of character death (not Dean or Cas). This part of the story will explore a romantic relationship with Dean/Lisa, but (since it's stated in both this prologue and the prologue for You and I (Collide)) it's not really a spoiler for me to tell you that whatever happens between Dean and Lisa, they're not endgame.

Young Volcanoes

Part Two: In Over My Head

Please don't give up, dear you

I'm but the sliver moon sliding through

When you belong to a song

Salty eyes

You belong

- Salty Eyes, The Matches

Prologue

January 19th, 2010

Dean tosses his cell phone onto the counter, then puts his face in his hands, taking a slow, deep breath. Something to center him, draw his emotions back from the forefront, so he can focus on everything that's more important than his tears. He still has so much to do before the funeral, before people start arriving - there's no time to waste on grief.

He lifts his head again when he feels more in control, and reaches for the checklist Bobby gave him last night. Since Dean had insisted on doing as much as he possibly could by himself, Bobby had opted to just help him set up a to-do list. He still needs to call the bank and the post office. Actually make the time to look at the envelope where Mary left her last wishes, so he can then call the funeral director. He needs to work up the courage to go through her closet and find an outfit for the wake. Send the rest of her clothes to Goodwill.

Dean leans over and takes another deep breath. He's days away from turning twenty, and he's planning his mother's funeral. A part of him knows that, if he asked for help, he'd get plenty of it. But then he'd have too much time on his hands, and frankly, he'd rather keep himself occupied than have to face reality.

God knows what he's going to do once everything is taken care of.

When he's able to lift his head again, he catches a glimpse of movement by the kitchen door. Sam is standing there, watching him with mournful eyes, but Dean quickly straightens up and clears his throat. Sam shouldn't be worrying about him. Sam shouldn't be worrying about anything - he's got a few days off from school, Sarah, Andy, and Jess are coming over later, and all Sam needs to do is sit there and grieve and let his friends (and Dean) support him. Dean's the adult. He'll do the rest.

"What's up, Sammy?" Dean asks, busying himself by digging in the drawers, pretending he's getting ready to make dinner.

Sam watches him closely. "Are you really going to cook?"

"Yeah." Dean frowns. "Why shouldn't I?"

"Because Ellen said she'd cook for us for a while. She should be here in a half hour."

"I like cooking." Dean turns away from Sam and takes a few quick breaths through his nose. "Did the landline ring while I was on the phone with Cas?"

"Yeah." And Dean has to look at his brother, because with just that one syllable, Sam's given away the game. "What?"

Dean narrows his eyes. "Who was it, Sam?"

"Cas is going to be here for the funeral?" Sam tries to change the subject, sounding a little too perky, and now Dean's convinced something's up.

"Was it Dad?"

Sam rolls his eyes. They called their father before they called anyone else, and he'd sworn he'd come to Sileas for the funeral, or as soon as he could get there. Both boys still have trouble trusting their father's promises, even though he's been clean and settled down for years now. Old habits die hard. "No," Sam answers. "It was Lisa."

Dean's heart stops. He jumps between anger and guilt and confusion, before clearing his throat and settling on a casual tone. "Lisa Braeden? I haven't talked to her in years."

Sam bites his lower lip and takes a few more steps into the kitchen. He's not even sixteen yet, but he's stretched out like saltwater taffy, only an inch or two smaller than Dean. His knees and elbows get everywhere, accidentally digging into Dean's ribs as he fills up the space next to him. "She saw the article in the paper, and hunted around to get our number to see if it was okay for her to come to the funeral."

Dean pauses, his fingers wrapped around a cabinet's brass handle. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her she could."

Dean tightens his grip. Sam sighs.

"Seriously, Dean, it's been years. You're with Cas now, anyway, so what does it matter?"

"I'm not mad," Dean says slowly, his voice gruff. "She knew Mom too. If she wants to come, she can come."

Sam watches Dean closely, but Dean refuses to meet his gaze, and refuses to satisfy his curiosity. What happened with Lisa was a mess. A mess that's entirely Dean's fault, to the point that he's not even sure if Cas has completely forgiven him for it. Considering Dean only spoke to Lisa once after it all went to hell, he's surprised she wants to come to the funeral at all. Mom must have made a bigger impression on her than he thought.

"It's fine," Dean says again, pushing away from the cabinet, keeping his face down. "I have shit to take care of."

"Okay," Sam mumbles. Dean hears Sam's pain rather than hears it, and all he can do is pick up the pace, try to escape to his room, back to the bustle of preparation. Back to being so busy he can't feel. "I'll just… clean up in here."

Dean only just stops himself from slamming his bedroom door, and he has to stop and take a moment to breathe before he makes his way down the stairs. The yellow envelope with Mary's last wishes in it is sitting on Dean's desk. Just thinking of touching it makes him ache all over, but he has to. Someone has to.

He wants to call Cas. Tell him about how much pain he's in, how much is weighing on his shoulders, how this is so much more difficult than he ever could have imagined, and not just in the sense that he desperately misses his mother, but that he has to know things he never wanted to know. Not until he was well into his fifties, at least.

Dean takes a seat on his bed and covers his face with his hands, taking deep, shuddering breaths. It takes several moments for him to finally calm down, and several more before he works up the courage to open the envelope.

Mary wants to be cremated.

Dean breaks.

A few hours later, Dean emerges from his room. He avoids Sam's gaze, well-aware that he looks like hell and unwilling to talk about why.

"Ellen brought baked macaroni and cheese," Sam says quietly. "She told me to tie you down and funnel it into your mouth if I had to."

Dean huffs. It's as close as he can get to a laugh right now. "All right, all right." He shuffles into the kitchen, where the pan still sits on the island; Sam never did know how to put away leftovers. Dean shakes his head and cuts himself a piece, putting it into the microwave for a quick jolt. He taps his fingers against the microwave door, then turns back to Sam.

"Did you get Lisa's number?"

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Why?"

Dean shrugs. "I want to call her." It's easier to focus on his past sins, to want to make amends, then to have to face anything else to do with Mary's death. He's had enough of that for one evening.

Sam hesitates. "It should still be in the caller ID," he says slowly. "So. Yeah. Whenever you want."

"Okay." The microwave beeps. Dean turns to retrieve his food and a fork, and drops it off in the dining room before getting the house phone. And yes, Braeden, Lisa is among the recent calls.

Dean sits down and takes a bite of food before hitting the talk button and putting the phone against his ear as it rings. He's pretty sure he hasn't eaten anything since dinner last night, but he doubts he could stomach more than a few bites now. Ellen's threats are the only thing that keep him bringing the food to his mouth, chewing, and swallowing.

The ringing stops abruptly, and a familiar voice says, "Hello?" Dean can see her, bright-eyed and smiling as she sits shotgun in the old pick-up truck Bobby gave him for his sixteenth birthday. The wind rolling through her dark hair as she laughs at whatever stupid joke he'd just made. Nostalgia almost makes him smile. He had cared for her. Whatever happened that summer, and whatever feelings he has for Cas, that doesn't change the fact that he saw a future with her. It wasn't as brightly colored as the future he now sees with Cas, but he could have made it work.

"Hello?" she says again, dragging Dean out of his reverie.

"Hi, Lisa," he responds. She doesn't speak for a moment, but he hears rustling on the other end, and the gentle click of a door closing.

"Dean?" she whispers.

"Yeah." He swallows. "Lisa, I'm sorry."

"No, Dean, don't, you don't have to do this now-"

"Please." Dean closes his eyes and rubs a hand over his face. The smell of the food on his plate makes his stomach roll, so he pushes it away, figuring he'll deal with Ellen's wrath later. "I just want to apologize. Really apologize. So please listen."

She goes quiet again. Someone laughs in the background, maybe the TV, and Lisa sighs. "Okay," she says softly. "Go ahead."

Dean leans over the table. Takes a deep breath. And tries to figure out where to begin.