Fandom: Supernatural

Title: Attempt to betray

Author: Half-a-second aka Azi

Pairing: Dean/Jo

Spoilers: 2.14. kind of missing scene

Summary: she shouldn't be with him and it'd stupid to hope that sometime it'll change. Dean as a grown-up and responsible man easily and clearly explains it.

Warning: POV Jo

Author's note: the poem is free translated from Russian language.

to my lovely twin renshilucifer. Just because i love you.

such nights… unfinished songs… when there is no mercy – somebody else's hands are embracing you.

i'm straining and tossing. and when I lower my eyelids I am listening to your breath.

…

and I wanna learn to dream… about something else. let it be nonsense. let it be nightmare.

not about you…

"Attempts to betray" Leskina

He leans against the wall clutching injured shoulder and takes a deep breath. There is couple dozens of steps from here to bar. That's enough strength for me to drag him even if he can't go. But I see – no, I know – that he won't go any longer.

He closes his eyes, screwing up and clenching teeth with pain, but I could draw clearly his eyes even in the dark. The whole Dean Winchester is in his look. Desperate Casanova – he clearly know in which part of conversation he should curve eyebrow, smile or make a scabrous joke to make any woman his slave. Beaten with life and neighbor's shoes cur – he tears pack of stray dogs with his teeth but dreams inwardly to lie down in his kennel and die. Mischievous child – he saws chair's legs or mixes salt with sugar. Let me introduce you Dean Winchester. The man with whom I am so imprudencely over head and ears in love according to accurate Sam's observation. The man who consider me the little girl, brainless schoolgirl.

He bites his lip and I unwittingly redden.

He leans against the wall and maybe has already forgotten about my existence. Because he wrinkles up his forehead and clutches injured shoulder with pale fingers. If he remembered me being here he would say one of his favorite obscene witty remarks and go to the bar refusing my help.

I sigh and pass my hand over his cheek reminding of my existence. He catches harshly my wrist and opens wide his eyes. I feel two-day's bristle under my palm and for some reason recall picture from book of Myths of Ancient Greece in my childhood. Antey's gaze when he carries the whole world on his broad shoulders.

He folds up his lips to the smile. Devil, insane. I want to erase this smile from his lips. With the kiss.

Dean is strong. He copes effortlessly with demons. To say nothing of little skinny girl. It seems to me that if he gripes his hand a little bit stronger he'll smash my bones to pieces. I know that tomorrow I'll flaunt luxurious dark blue bruises: four parallel oblong prints together and one more apart. But I don't care. In my heart of hearts I even feel kind of masochistic pleasure. As if he leaves the brand on me. Obtaining a right of possession.

He looks worn out. The fact is not only with wound. He is tired to death and it seems to me that every motion he does immoderately. I wanna either clasp him or wanna him to clasp me. Just not to see boundless fatigue and void in his gaze. I wanna hide my face in his shoulder and inhale smell of leather jacket. The similar jacket my father had.

I look unwittingly at his lips and wonder what taste they have.

I understand with my mind that he bleeds profusely and I should dress his wound. That water is deadly cold in this season and he trembles with cold. That the wound could be infected. That I should drag him the fucking couple dozens of steps to bar. With my mind. But I'm blonde and not supposed to think. Because the gaze of his dark eyes pins me as a butterfly. I can't move as a rabbit hypnotized by a boa.

One by one Dean unbends unwillingly his fingers. I withdraw my numb hand from his cheek. He watches me massaging wrist with lazy interest.

"We should go", I whisper. I don't know why I whisper. We can't be heart – it's empty around.

He doesn't react demonstrating the wish to stay here – on this asphalt, beside this concrete wall – forever. He's tired of running after and running away. He's tired of endless race with death and evil. He's tired of living on credit and constantly getting clear of debts. He wanna be given a rest for a couple of fucking minutes of his life. But even now he is enraged by the stubborn schoolgirl.

"Dean", I almost beg him. "Dean, please…"

Suddenly he reaches out his healthy hand and takes my chin. If someone else did this souteneur gesture I would slap in his face. But now I become numb and freeze. Dean passes slowly over my lower lip with the thumb. I don't understand what is it - rather rude endearment or attempt to shut me. But my heart goes pit-a-pat and I close my eyes.

His palm slides down my cheek. His palm is hard, callous and… thorny, kind of. Like it isn't intended for tenderness. Just for a gun and dagger. But I unwittingly snuggle up and reach for his hand. He puts the strand of my hair away and suddenly pulls me by my neck with inhuman strength.

I fall awkwardly on his knees. He bites my lower lip. I cry out with surprise but my scream turns into groan when he covers my lips.

With the edge of losing consciousness I understand that all my pervious kisses cannot be compared with this kiss. Dean's lips don't allow objections, don't allow initiative. His lips drink up my mouth. If I was able to think clearly I would remember the legend about succubs – creatures who drink up the life by kiss. My head is spinning and it seems like I lose consciousness any second. It's not swing, it's not merry-go-round. It's endless falling plumb down, to the precipice.

Even when Sam pressed me to the counter I didn't feel so helpless. I can't resist, can't move, I barely can breath. Though Dean holds me only with one hand. He buries his palm in my hair, firmly presses my nape.

He releases me and moves away. His gaze is biting and derisive.

"Are you satisfied? Did I satisfy your curiosity?"

He doesn't wait for my answer. He pushes me from his knees and stands up with difficulty.

"You're right. We should go".

He turns away and goes to the bar.

I wanna cry and go into hysteric. Of course it's the demonstration of force, superiority over the stupid school girl who is so imprudencely over head and ears in love. The explanation that I'm nothing to do near him. Neither now, on this war, nor later. Never. The lesson to the little girl, attempt to betray. The cruel one. And unsuccessful.

I gulp back my tears and go to the place where the door has just slammed. To the place where I'll never be asked for help. He – the man I'm trying not to love – will never ask for it.

I'm trembling all over. At the edge of consciousness the though why Sam chose me to be the bait for Dean pulsates.

I head for the place where somebody is waiting for me. But he'll never show it.

FIN