The rain was hammering down, beating out a melodic tune on the aluminium body of the Impala. The wet roads were of little concern to Dean as his speed hadn't altered in the past few hours. You were both speeding towards a new state, a new job, and it called for urgency. The atmosphere was tense, and you could feel waves of irritation coming from the hunter sat in the driving seat. He wouldn't say anything – he just sat there, fingers gripping tightly to the steering wheel, jaw churning as he ground his teeth. You wished he would talk to you; you knew you could help shoulder the burden, but that was the problem. He didn't want to share it. He wanted to carry the whole weight of the world on his shoulders – he needed to prove his valour to everyone. You could see it, you knew him too well. He was vulnerable and strong all at once.
"Sam's a big boy; he can take care of himself." You'd been mulling over the words for a while now, pushing them around your mouth, waiting for the right gap in the silence to spew them forth. But from the look on Dean's face, you knew it hadn't been right.
"He's wrecked, okay? He's been to hell and back – the last thing he needs is a hunt." He glanced over at you; emerald eyes flashing across your face. "Stubborn ass won't listen to me." The windscreen wipers streaked across the windscreen, making thick rivers of water in the corners. The long, straight road in front of you was devoid of traffic, and the empty, open fields seemed like a wasteland. Once again, your mouth ran dry. Sam was up to his usual tricks – worrying his brother. He'd been hospitalised after a run in with a vampire only a week ago, and now, he was back out on the road trying to find the nest. Whilst you knew it was Sam's prerogative to do what he wanted, you really wished he'd give some consideration to his older brother. Now, Dean was racing across state lines to meet up with Sam and come to his aid. It didn't matter how many times you or Sam protested, Dean just would not listen.
"Dean, he's got it handled, seriously. He said so himself. Why don't we drive on to the next motel and sleep a little?" You throw a smile in his direction, your lips turning up at the corners to indicate that maybe 'sleep' isn't what you have in mind. However, your mild flirtation is ignored.
"I don't need to sleep – I'm good. We've still got a four hour drive." His focus turned back to the road ahead, and for a moment you thought that was all there was to it. Suddenly, his hand slammed down on the steering wheel. "I'm gonna try him again." Dean reaches forward for his cell. He punches the buttons, dialling in Sam's number in record speed. You turn your attention out of the window again, searching for something to offer up to ease the tension within the car. You don't understand them – not completely. The wild protective instinct that growls inside each of them; hell, you get the whole sibling bonding thing, but their blatant disregard for the other's wishes? But you don't say anything, not yet, not for the time being. "Damn it, Sammy." You feel the Impala accelerate as Dean pushes the pedal to the floor.
"Honestly, I'm sure he's fine. He's a good hunter – he'll call you if he needs you." You risk words, and look towards Dean.
"You don't get it – he's all I've got." The statement flies out of his mouth, and it takes him a second to realise what he's said. But not you, you're already there. You nod a few times, trying to shake off the crushing pain that's suddenly gripping at your windpipe. "Awh, I – I didn't mean it like that." He reaches out a hand and it skims across your thigh. Instinctively you recoil, moving your leg away from him, just out of his grasp. "Come on, don't be like that."
"Be like what, Dean?" You spit; you didn't realise it would hurt so much. You never really think about what Dean really means – you know you're having fun, you know that you enjoy spending time with him, you hope it lasts forever. You know you love him – but you never admit it. Not until now, when you're faced with the idea that you might mean nothing to him.
"Like this." He gestures towards you as if you should know what he means, as if you shouldn't be hurt. He's still speeding down the highway; his gaze is trained on the horizon. "He's my brother, [your name]."
"And what am I then? Just some girl you picked up in a bar."
"I did pick you up in a bar." Dean smiles at you for the first time in what feels like hours, but it's not enough. He realises this. "Look, I don't know what you are."
"Well, let me know when you figure it out." You shift in your seat, and pull your bag up onto your lap, ready to leave. "Pull over."
"What?"
"I said, pull over."
"Oh come on, you can't be serious!"
"Like a heart attack. Pull over." You watch as he admits defeat, and he pulls over into a lay by, slowing the car to a complete stop. You don't need telling twice, you push open the door and head out into the rain. You don't know what you're doing. Maybe you could hitch a ride to the nearest town. Maybe you could walk there. You stand by the front of the Impala, staring up and down the road for some indication of what you should do. You can feel him watching you; his gaze is trained in your direction. The rain is heavy; it's twisting curls into your hair and cooling your skin. You know it's time to go, and you start off back in the direction you just came from.
The door of the Impala swings open and you turn around to see Dean emerging, the rain hitting the strong, sleek planes of his face. "I'm sorry!" He yells over the rushing of the rain. "That was a dick move, so I'm sorry. Just hear me out, okay?" You're only a few feet in front of him, but you step forward slightly, if only to hear him better.
"Okay." You nod.
"Look for a while now; it's been me and Sam. I've only had to care about Sam. And then I met you and it's different." He leans against the hood of the Impala. For some reason he won't look at you. "When people get close to me, it doesn't end so well. My dad, Bobby, Jo, Ellen – everyone I've cared about, I've lost. And when you asked me what you were – what you meant – I guess I didn't want to admit. I just – I – I don't want to lose you, [your name]." He finally stammers out his feelings; he looks up at you with those wide, beautiful green eyes and you feel yourself melting. You've waited for months to hear some sentiment from him; knowing that you matter – that he cares for you – it's more than enough. It's everything. You walk over until you're standing directly in front of him. You twist your fingers together, a nervous habit of yours.
"So what you're saying is…" You want him to say it. He pulls you in, wrapping an arm around the base of your back, and the other one sliding up to cup your face.
"I love you." The rain refuses to lose the battle; it continues to pour down, not that either of you notice. You're both slick with rain water; your clothes sodden and see through. Your eyes meet his, and you suddenly feel like nothing else exists.
His lips land on top of yours – hard and frustrated – seeking something beneath your skin. His tongue invades your mouth; an invasion most wanted. You press your body up against his; you've never been more pliable than beneath his accomplished, steady hands. There's an eagerness burning in both of you – you need to connect on a physical basis and the need has never felt stronger. His kisses venture away from your lips, and precede the descent down your neck. The scruff of hair littering his face grazes your skin, leaving a heat in its wake. It doesn't seem to matter that you're in the middle of nowhere, but entirely out in the open. You're both willing to forego public decency for the next ten minutes. He spins you around so that the backs of your knees hit the front of the Impala; he has you caged in, ready to press down upon you.
Dean pulls your jumper over your head, leaving just a white camisole to shield you from the elements. You push off his jacket, his black t-shirt now visible. Your hands venture underneath the shirt; you can feel the hills and valleys of his muscles, and they ripple beneath your touch. You find his lips again, you run a hand through his hair, and wrap your legs around his waist. Pulling the neck of his shirt to the side, you litter kisses down his neck and onto his chiseled collarbone. Dean's hands move from your waist, and you feel him unzip your jeans. He meets your eyes for a moment, seeking confirmation that everything is okay, and you nod. He proceeds. His hand delves down into the front of your jeans and into your underwear.
You've had sex before – but you've never had make-up sex. Suddenly, Dean's incredibly eager to please. He rubs back and forth, gently at first, before picking up momentum. You kiss him again; you can't help it. You want to fade into him. You tug at the belt of his jeans, and undo his fly. He helps you pull down your jeans, and pulls you to him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you can feel your heart beating through your chest. Your breathing falls sharp and heavy, laboured with wanton lust. With a slow and gentle push, he enters you. You lean back on the hood of the Impala as Dean thrusts into you. You meet his gaze and smile at him. You arch your back, pushing your hips closer to Dean. You can feel the tension in your body building; it's anticipating the release. You can hear Dean groaning as he comes close. Your back arches again. You begin to shudder overcome by the feeling of sweet euphoria; you feel yourself erupt from a place deep within. And a second later, you feel Dean come. You feel the full force of it, and then he hunches over you, exhilarated and exhausted. You find each other's lips and you kiss softly and gratefully.
For a few seconds you stay like that. He leans against you, totally spent, and you revel in the haze of the rain.