When they meet again in Wisconsin two months later, (investigating a city where a mysterious epidemic was spreading among children,) they are not surprised.
They impersonate health officials, interview the hospital staff, surf the internet for some clues, and they meet up back at a motel at nine o'clock that night.
Larry and John aren't back yet, so Peyton, Dean and Sam watch television in the boys' room as they wait. There's a CSI: Miami marathon on one of the channels, (there's nothing better on,) and Sam and Peyton take turns imitating Horatio Caine. Dean glares.
After the third time Sam puts on imaginary sunglasses and Peyton dramatically utters a cheesy one-liner and they both crack up, Dean gets up from his chair and says that he needs a drink. The door slams behind him, and Sam and Peyton exchange looks, but the moment is broken when the voice of David Caruso filters through the speakers in the form of another cheesy pun.
A couple of hours after he leaves, John calls, his voice tired and controlled, and Sam straightens in his seat and looks over at Peyton. She stops laughing at some joke Sam had told beforehand and stares at him apprehensively, waiting for a response. John tells Sam that there's been an accident; they were on their way back to the motel when they were attacked. He doesn't go into more detail.
They drive to the hospital, Sam in the driver's seat, Peyton in the passenger's. She sits straight and grips the side of her seat so hard her knuckles turn white, but she still hasn't shed one tear. When they arrive, Peyton rushes over to the nearest doctor and Sam quickly follows, his steps slowing just slightly as he sees his father sitting in the waiting room. The doctor informs them of Larry's condition – wound to the head, internal bleeding, coma. The words seem to float around her, jumbling in a murky buzz, not really processing.
Sam corners John several moments later, and he confirms suspicions that it was a demon; he doesn't know who, exactly, and Peyton breaks away from her trance and stares at him, hard.
"You're hiding something," she says.
He sighs and runs his hands over his face and when he speaks he doesn't look at her. "The demon was looking for me, Peyton."
Sam attempts to call Dean again but he still won't answer the phone. He looks at Peyton and back to the phone and he slowly pulls himself up and walks over to her, gently placing his hand on her upper arm. "I'm going to go get Dean. Are you going to be ok?" he asks. She swallows dryly before nodding in affirmation, and Sam kisses the top of her head and squeezes her hand before he brushes past her, leaving Peyton with the eldest Winchester.
John looks up and brown eyes meet hazel.
Her eyes water, but she still hasn't shed one tear.
xxx
Dean sits at a bar, hunched over the counter, his arms folded in front of him. His phone rings, but he checks the caller ID then turns it on silent. As the night progresses, he tries to pick up a couple of girls, but his attempt is half-hearted and more for amusement than anything else, so he downs a few more beers and makes his way back to the motel where he's sure he would probably find Sam and Peyton cuddling or fucking or something to that effect, but he's tired and pleasantly buzzed and what is he supposed to do? Sleep on the sidewalk?
When he comes back, his room is vacant. He's glad that he doesn't find Peyton and Sam in some compromising position, but Dean can't help but feel as if something is off. The door clicks open and when he spins around, he finds Sam standing at the doorway.
"Where have you been, Dean?"
Sam has that bitch-face on, the one where his brow furrows and his lips purse a little; the one that he has on when he's about to explain something to Dean that everything is going wrong and it's his fault.
He hates Sam's bitch-face.
"Does it matter? You two seemed pretty cozy without me."
Sam stares at his older brother incredulously and shakes his head. "Really, Dean? Are you serious?"
Dean ignores him and proceeds to splash his face with water, and Sam clenches his fists and grinds his teeth. "Larry's in the hospital."
"What?"
"Dad and Larry were attacked a couple hours ago. I just dropped Peyton off and came to see if you had gotten back yet."
"You tell me this now?" Dean asks angrily.
Sam flashes him a look of disbelief. "Well I tried calling," he replies sarcastically, and Dean can't say anything.
Twenty minutes later, Dean and Sam exit the elevator onto the third floor and see John look up at them from his seat and Peyton leaning against the white wall, waiting for some news on her father. Sam nods reassuringly at her and walks past them to talk to a surgeon who had just come out of the operating room, and Dean slows to a halt a few feet in front of her. They stare at each other like they're in some kind of western showdown, waiting for the other to make the first move.
His mouth suddenly feels dry and words escape him. She is looking at him with those eyes, tired and sad and something else, and he doesn't know how to act. He coughs uncomfortably and looks away, and when he lifts his eyes to her again she is staring somewhere off to the side.
He still doesn't know how to act.
xxx
She arrives back at the motel the next afternoon and just as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she pauses. Her fist comes to rest against the wall, her eyes close in pain, her teeth bite down on her bottom lip. She shakes her head and wills the tears from falling from her eyes, and something inside of her, something like panic, fear, and helplessness, rises like a balloon filling with helium, suffocating her little by little.
An object softly hits her ankle, and her eyes open in surprise. A red ball slowly rocks back and forth at her feet, slowing to a stop, and she looks up again to see a young boy running towards her. He comes to a halt when he sees her, his brown eyes staring at her innocently.
"Hi," she offers.
"Hi."
She gestures to the object lying at her feet. "This yours?"
He nods and she shakily picks up the ball and rolls it back and forth between her hands. She recognizes his face; she's seen him playing around the building every so often.
"Your mom runs this place, right?"
"Yeah."
She tosses the ball back to him.
"Thanks. I'm Asher," he says.
"Peyton."
He squints. "Like the football player?" he inquires, and a soft smile tugs at her lips in spite of herself.
"Like the football player," she affirms.
"But you're a girl."
"So?"
"And he's a guy."
"Yeah? I bet I have a better crossover dribble then he does."
"There's no crossover dribble in football. That's basketball."
She tilts her head to the side. "Is it? Well then; I still stand by my statement. I always was more of a basketball girl."
Another boy comes running in – taller, older. He grabs the ball from the younger boy then nods his head at Peyton.
"Who are you?" he asks.
"Peyton."
"Like the football player, Mike," Asher amends.
"Exactly."
"She likes basketball better, though."
Peyton smiles.
xxx
Dean already has an idea of what has been targeting the children in Fitchburg. He thinks he's encountered it before, and a part of him really hopes that he's right, and a part of him really hopes that he's not. He goes to his father's motel room to confirm his suspicions and finds him walking out with a duffel bag in his hand. He peers inside and sees the maps and pictures and newspaper clippings cleared out from the desk and he can feel his whole body stiffen.
John almost looks apologetic and even though Dean gets what's going on, and gets why he's doing this, it doesn't mean he doesn't like it any less.
"Let us come with you, dad, we can help."
But John has that look on his face, the one that's all sad, and wanting; the one that means no, and he swallows thickly and he places his hand on Dean's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, son, but you boys are safer without me."
Dean protests, but John won't have it.
"You take care of your brother."
And it's an order.
Dean stares into his father's eyes, but nods once in understanding and when his father brushes past him, he doesn't watch him go.
Later that night, he finds his dad's journal sitting underneath his pillow.
xxx
She knocks at their door later that night, and she smiles weakly at Sam before she enters with two pizza boxes and a plastic bag full of condiments. He helps her unload the groceries and he furrows his eyebrows as he takes out a jar of pickles and a can of pineapples. When he pulls out a packet of bologna, he gives her a look, but she just smirks in return.
She sits Indian-style in one of the chairs and sprinkles pineapples and bits of bologna on her pizza, and when Sam tentatively calls her name, she just fishes a pickle out of the jar and breaks off a piece with a loud crunch.
Dean gets up from his bed and walks up to them, his brow raising as he spots the unusual array of foods scattered over the table. His gaze lands on Peyton, and her expression is dull and clouded and closed off. He looks into her eyes and he's not sure, but he thinks he sees something familiar.
Peyton stares at him innocently and offers him some of her pizza, and she's surprised when Dean gladly accepts and takes a huge bite, flashing her a grin as he does. He takes a look at it mid-chew then nods approvingly.
"Want some, Sammy?" he asks, but Sam looks at both of them like they've both gone crazy.
Dean leans back in his chair and shrugs his shoulders and says, "Your loss," and when Peyton smiles, Dean has to try extra hard to act like he doesn't notice.
Because when his mom died and his father became obsessed, more often than not Dean and Sam ate cereal and poptarts for breakfast, lunch and dinner so much that now they can't even look at a box of lucky charms without wanting to throw up. When Sam asked for the millionth time why they were having cereal and pop-tarts again, Dean told him to shut up and eat, but he thinks now that if he were creative enough they probably would've eaten apple-peanut butter-eggo-cereal and honey-peaches-cocktail olive-poptarts and they wouldn't have to hate lucky charms.
But it's not like he's going to tell her that.
xxx
Peyton watches Dean take another bite of his pizza and she thinks she sees something.
She thinks she sees Nathan, her first boyfriend, showing up in her room after spending the entire day training for basketball with his father, the weight of the world resting on his broad shoulders.
She thinks she sees Jake, her second boyfriend, standing in the road, asking with his eyes what she was doing out there in the middle of the night.
She thinks she sees Lucas, her…something…kneeling in front of her and asking, "Pretty sure?"
She thinks.
xxx
Dean exits his room just as Peyton exits hers. They notice each other at the same time, and the click of their doors gently closing behind them fades down the empty corridor.
Peyton leans against the wall decorated with garish seventies-patterned wallpaper and bites her bottom lip as if that would make it stop from trembling. Though her eyes say something, her lips say nothing.
He walks up to her and gently touches her elbow and she looks down and instinctively wraps her arms around herself, her long limbs hugging her slender frame. The dim lighting bathes her complexion in a warm yellow glow and the shadows pool at the crook of her collarbone and the hollows of her cheeks, softening her features and enhancing the long, thick lines of her lashes. When she finally looks at him, her green eyes are filled with so much question and hurt he tenses.
Dean's free hand reaches for her other arm and this time Peyton reaches back. He holds her as she cries.
xxx
Sometimes, when Peyton comes back from the hospital, she sees Michael and Asher playing in the lounge.
Sometimes, Peyton joins them.
They play board games and cards and one time, they even play a game of Twister.
Peyton quickly finds that Asher is easy going and Michael is more guarded. It takes him longer to warm up to her, and even when he does, he is still a little defensive. Fortunately for her, he expresses it with sarcasm and smart-alecky remarks. It amuses her more than anything else, to be honest.
Michael flicks the plastic hand on the wheel and waits for it to land. "Left hand, yellow," he says dully.
Peyton and Asher carefully maneuver their limbs around each other.
When Sam and Dean walk in on them, Peyton is bent over with her arms and legs crisscrossed in various directions. Dean raises an eyebrow and inclines his head.
"Peyton?" asks Sam.
At the sound of her name, Peyton promptly turns around, causing her to lose her balance. Her foot slips, causing it to hit Asher's hand, causing it to slide, causing it to collide with Peyton's arm, (and so forth and so forth,) and they all tumble down on the colorful, spotted, vinyl mat in a heap of limbs.
Peyton sits up and her eyes are alive and her cheeks are red with laughter. She reaches out to grab Asher and captures him in a playful headlock, ruffling his hair as he attempts to sit upright.
"Dean, Sam; this is Michael and Asher. Michael, Asher; this is Dean and Sam."
"You wanna play with us?" Asher asks, and Dean's brow shoots upward.
Peyton suppress a smile.
xxx
Later that night, Dean confesses his theory to Sam and Peyton. They're in the boys' room again, Sam sitting near the door, Peyton lounging on his bed, Dean taking a seat near the window.
At first they are confused, neither of them having any prior knowledge to the monster they were hunting at hand. Dean explains that it's kind of a witch, (he thinks,) but that he doesn't know much more about them. Sam is still skeptical, so Dean recalls a recollection seventeen years ago, when John, Dean, and Sam were in Fort Douglas. Sam doesn't remember.
"You think it's the same one Dad hunted before?" Sam asks.
"Yeah, maybe."
"But if Dad went after it, why is it still breathing air?"
"'Cause it got away."
"Got away?"
"Yeah, Sammy, it happens."
"Not very often."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you. I mean, maybe Dad didn't have his Wheaties that morning."
"What else do you remember?"
"Nothin'. I was a kid, all right?"
Peyton notices Dean's defensive, evasive tone, Sam's suspicious looks, and she says nothing.
xxx
Asher gets sick on a Thursday morning.
Peyton hears the slam of a door and frantic footsteps in the hallway, and she peeks outside to spot the boys' mother, Joanna, carrying an armful of blankets and pillows and an overnight bag. The bag slips from her fingers and lands on the floor, and Peyton hurriedly walks over and picks it up for her. The older woman is temporarily shocked at her presence, but it quickly dissipates as she recognizes her as the young woman who she sees entertaining her children from time to time. "Peyton."
"Is everything alright?" she asks.
"Everything's fine." But even as she says this, her hands shake and her voice fights to remain steady.
"Joanna…"
She sighs. "Asher, he's…he's sick. The doctor's say he got pneumonia."
A cold chill runs down Peyton's spine.
She follows Joanna out to the car, and spots Dean and Sam sitting on the stone steps a few feet away, talking to Michael. She sees Sam's concerned look, Dean's clenched jaw, and she knows that they know.
Peyton snaps back around when she hears keys hitting the cement floor and a curse escape Joanna's lips. The older woman's eyes close, and her hand reaches up to rest on her forehead as she struggles to regain her nerves. They recognize that she is no condition to drive, and Sam offers to take her to the hospital. She is reluctant, but he insists, and soon both she and Sam are pulling out of the parking lot, leaving Dean and Peyton standing there alone.
He looks over at her and sees her, watching the car disappear down the road, and he is suddenly struck by how tired she looks just then – jaded, even. Her blonde curls are tousled and unkempt, her posture listless, her expression utterly lost, and he can feel something inside him break just a little. He turns to her and she wordlessly slips herself into his side, both arms sliding around his waist, her head tucking under his chin. His own arms wrap around her shoulders, her neck, holding her close.
"It's going to be ok," he tells her.
She holds him tighter.
xxx
Peyton and Dean arrive at the hospital several moments later, and Sam informs them of Asher's condition. He's exhibiting the same symptoms as the other sick children in the town, and he is steadily growing worse. Dean gets Joanna coffee, Peyton holds her hand, and afterwards, Peyton, Dean, and Sam go to check on Larry's progress.
He lays in white and pale blue sheets, his head heavily bandaged, one eye bruising an ugly purple-green color, and needles and tubes inserted into the inside of his arm. The doctor tells them that unfortunately, he isn't showing any progress and Peyton nods and politely thanks him.
She takes a seat next to the bed, and Sam takes one on the other side of the room, and Dean leans on the frame of the doorway. They spend the remainder of the day in the hospital room amidst the steady beeping of the machines and the quiet chatter of hospital gossip.
xxx
When Peyton arrives in front of their door later that night, Dean answers, a blue toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, and she slowly glances up at his half-naked body, (hotfuckdamn) temporarily speechless. She glances between him and the inside of his room and they stand there, unsure of what to do, before she strides past him to sit on Sam's bed, whispering for him to wake up. Sam groggily opens his eyes, but the only things that registers is "sorry," "tonight," and "stay," and he rolls over to the other side to let her get in. They sleep with their backs facing each other.
When Dean flips off the light, he glares at their silhouettes as he crawls into his own bed and turns around and sleeps with his back facing both of them.
The next morning, Dean comes out of the shower, rubbing a towel against his head, and he stops short when he sees the sleeping figures lying on the other bed. Peyton is snuggled in the blankets, her body curved towards Sam, and Sam is sleeping on his back, his face turned to her. The tip of his nose just almost touches the bridge of her nose, and his bottom lip just almost touches her upper lip, but despite the fact that there's no real physical contact, there is something vaguely intimate about the way they sleep.
It's sickening, really.
Dean opens the blinds with a fast tug and the sunlight streams through the window.
"Rise and shine, sleepyheads!" he shouts with a grin.
Their brows furrow and their eyes blink dizzily at the sudden light. Peyton turns over and buries her face in her pillow and Sam blearily pulls his over his head.
"Was that really necessary, Dean?" comes his muffled voice.
Dean cocks his head to one side and opens up his arms, the smile still stretched across his face. "Big day ahead of us, Sammy," he replies.
"I hate you."
"Don't be silly. You love me."
Dean flips on the clock radio and starts singing loudly along to Lynard Skynard, complete with exaggerated facial expressions and obnoxious dancing. He makes his way over to the bed and leans forward until his lips are mere centimeters from Peyton's ear and singsongs "morning, sunshine."
She knows that he's trying to be annoying, but the only thing that she notices is how close he is and how he smells like guy and soap and aftershave and she rolls away from him before she does something stupid, say, like, jump him right then and there, and rolls right into Sam, who grunts in response as her shoulder comes in contact with his chest.
Good morning.
xxx
Dean knows that his plan will be controversial, but he suggests it anyway. Just as he suspected, Sam is incredulous and Peyton is furious. Dean responds to their criticism in matter-of-fact, straight-laced answers, which only serve to fuel Peyton's annoyance. They continue to argue back and forth, both stubborn in their position, and once in awhile, Sam's rational voice interrupts in an attempt to calm the tempest that brews between them.
All of a sudden, Dean explodes. He explodes that it's his fault, he explodes that he's the reason the shtriga was still living, he explodes that it's his job to make sure that thing is dead, and Peyton and Sam are stunned speechless.
Peyton stares at him, her soft eyes, her expression even softer. "What are you saying, Dean? How is it your fault?"
Dean is silent, and Sam sighs.
"Dean, you've been hiding something from the get-go. Since when does dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away? Now, talk to me, man, tell me what's goin' on."
Dean doesn't speak for a moment. And then he relays the story of how it had attacked Sam, how he was helpless to stop it, and Sam and Peyton are silent.
"You were just a kid."
"Don't –" he pauses. "Don't. Dad knew this was unfinished business for me."
An uneasy expression crosses Sam's face. "But using Michael? I don't know, Dean. I mean, how about one of us hides under the cover, you know, we'll be the bait?"
But Dean just shakes his head. "No, that won't work. It's gotta get close enough to feed. It'll see us. Believe me, I don't like it. But it's gotta be the kid."
xxx
The shtriga is destroyed in a tumultuous battle that ends with Sam almost getting the life force sucked out of him and Dean emptying his shotgun into the monster until there is nothing left but a pile of robes. Dean turns around to see Peyton launching herself into Sam's arms, and his expression is emotionless as he watches her hold on to him, murmuring for him to never to do that again.
Later that night, he walks back to his room after a couple of drinks at the local bar, and Peyton is standing by his doorstep. Her gaze turns to him, her eyes filled with concern. She reaches up softly, her fingers gently touching the cut on the side of his head, and they gently slide down and hold his chin, tilting it to the right to get a better look.
Her hand falls from his face and he catches it in his. They both stare at their joined hands, their palms lightly sliding against each other, her soft one familiarizing itself with his calloused one. Her hand shifts to the right and their fingers hesitatingly entwine. It's like something clicks between them, like a key turning a lock.
Their eyes meet and then his lips are on hers, soft and tentative at first, then deeper and more confident. Their mouths move languidly against each other's until she can feel the heat rising from the pit of her stomach and spreading throughout her limbs and when she releases a soft moan in appreciation it's all that he can do not to take her then and there. He guides her against the wall and pushes his body against hers, their kisses becoming hungrier and their touches growing hotter with each passing second.
They are brought back to reality by the soft click of a door opening and closing followed by a distant cough as a hotel tenant makes his way to the ice machine. His head drops to the crook between her neck and shoulder and they stay pressed against the wall as they gasp for much-needed air. Her finger then tugs at the belt loop in the waistband of his jeans to bring him even closer and he chuckles a little before raising his eyes to meet hers. Their eyes are heavy with lust, her hair is a mess, but somewhere amid the hazy cloud of yearning they are reminded of the weight of their impending actions.
They stare at each other for what seems like hours, bodies still pushed together, chests heaving, the sound of their own heartbeats pounding in their ears; and then she tilts her head towards him so that her lips hover over his and gently places them on top of his.
They just barely make it to her room.
xxx
Sam and Dean are in a diner somewhere, looking over the local newspaper for a job, when Dean suddenly sits straight up, his brow furrowed. Daniel Elkins…passed away… The name rings a bell, and he recognizes it as a name from his father's journal.
They return to the hospital where Peyton sits next to her father, staring at his comatose form. When she looks up at him, he doesn't say anything, but somehow they can feel their paths diverging, little by little, like a crack in a dam.
Later, Dean sees Peyton sitting in the backseat of her car with the top rolled down, sketching something in her notepad. He looks around before he approaches, his steps slow and reluctant, and his head tilts to the side as he nears, trying to catch a glimpse of her drawing. He thinks he sees something like a stoplight, but he's not sure, because Peyton makes three more thick black strokes before she flips the cover over her picture and looks up at him.
She grabs his arm and pulls him into her car, his limbs flailing awkwardly as he lands half on the seat and half on her. She scoots over a little bit until he's sitting fully on the seat, and the silence envelops them.
"They're transferring my dad to Tree Hill Memorial," she says. Some of my friends are going to come down here and drive back home with me. I don't see them often, so this'll be good for us."
He nods and looks down at his entwined hands. "That's good. That's…great."
A soft smile tugs at her lips. "We both knew that you had to go sooner or later, Dean. And I'm a big girl; I can take care of myself."
"I know," he says knowingly.
"And this is bigger than all of us."
"Yeah."
Peyton untangles one of his hands and holds it in hers.
xxx
Her father is transferred to Tree Hill three days later and her friends arrive to pick her up the next morning. Peyton introduces Sam and Dean to Lucas, Nathan, Haley, and Brooke, and they exchange handshakes and polite hellos.
Later, she hugs Sam tight, her arms wrapped around his waist and her face buried in his chest. He holds her just as tight; his arms wound firmly around her shoulders and his own face half-hidden in her curls. He whispers reassuring words to her, and she closes her eyes, willing the tears to go away, but some of them seep out anyway. When they finally let go, she holds his hands and looks into his eyes, and makes Sam promise him that he would take care of himself and that he would keep in touch.
Before Dean knows it, Peyton is standing in front of him, her big, hazel doll eyes already glassy with tears. He pushes himself off of his car and walks toward her, his eyes full of emotion, and she smiles a watery smile before throwing herself against him. For some reason it catches him by surprise, but soon his arms are sliding up to hold her closer and his face is buried in her hair and he's holding her tightly and trying to memorize every aspect of her; the feel of her in his arms, the smell of her skin, the exact color of her hair. She slowly pulls away and grabs his hands with both of hers, but she can't look him in the eyes like she did with Sam. Dean tilts his head to the side and attempts to catch her downward gaze. "You gonna cry now?" he teases, a small smile tugging at his lips, "Cus I hate it when girls cry," he says, and she humors him with a small smile of her own.
"I'm gonna miss you, Dean," she whispers, and there is just something about that moment, something soft, and tender, and warm, and he reaches out and cups the side of her face. He kisses her and he can't think. All he knows is the feel of her lips on his, the touch of her skin on his. His hands slowly caress the sides of her face, her back, her waist.
He holds her face in his hands and brings his forehead against hers. Her eyes are closed and she refuses to look up, afraid that when she does she has to let go.
"Peyton, I…"
But she shakes her head to cut him off. "I know," she says, and she's smiling now.
He kisses her again and when they break for air, this time, she doesn't break his gaze.
"You boys be safe," she says, her voice thick with emotion.
When they drive away, he makes it halfway down the lane before he finally looks back into the rearview mirror. Through the flying dust, he sees her standing in the middle of the road, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her blonde hair surrounding her head like a halo and he knows that his life will never be the same.