Whatttttt, done already? Yeah, well, I couldn't seem to stop with the pen on this one. Probably because I totally knew how I was going to end this. I know this was considerably shorter than my last multichaptered thing, but I'm glad I've been working on something more than just one story. So whatever keeps me going.
Here it is, part three! Enjoy~
"When Stars Cross"
Part 3
The results of the autopsies are finally public. Gil had been dead for a month before he was found. Old Joe was mauled exactly one month later.
Minnie hasn't been showing up to work, no explanation, and Becca and Emma fear the worst. Emma avoids the woods when she drives home, and she's more than happy to give Becca a ride at the end of the day. Becca's chatter can get a bit annoying but she means well, and Emma can put up with it if it means she won't be mauled anytime soon.
But her mind always goes back to Dean, and how he suspected Gil and Old Joe weren't mauled, but murdered. It goes back to the look he gave Minnie and the wall she put up immediately as if she had something to hide. She remembers Minnie always leaving early during that time of the month, because according to her, the lunar cycle and her menstrual cycle are a total bitch.
If that's all true, and all connected, then this belief Dean has is crazier than Ingrid thinking she has magical powers.
So Emma does what she's best at. She refuses to think it's a conspiracy and remains stubborn. And, when worse comes to worst, she'll run away. She always does.
Once she drops Becca off at home, Emma goes to Minnie's and pales at the absence of life. The whole place is dark; her car's still in the driveway, and the stillness is unsettling.
Emma quickly drives back to the motel and parks next to Dean, without thinking. As soon as she's in the room she shakes and throws all her belongings in the one suitcase she has, going on autopilot. This is her coping mechanism. If the environment is too rough, leave it. There's always another Tallahassee on the horizon.
She has enough to just barely make it out of here. She can do this.
There's a knock on the door.
And of course it's Dean.
"You were really loud getting out of your car," he observes. "What's up?"
She isn't sure why, but she needs the comfort. Emma wordlessly pulls Dean to her and wishes she had a hug like this in prison, or while she was moving around. It isn't like hugging Ingrid, who seems possessive. It's not like half-heartedly hugging Becca back.
It's like hugging Neal—warm, surrounding, assuring. It's what she imagines hugging her absent father would be like. While she should hate Dean, hate what she suspects he did and just how much he's making this a challenge with just his mere presence, she can't if he's going to be here for her, even if temporarily.
Her morale is weak. She hates herself more than anything.
"Did you kill her?" she asks, muffled against the cotton of his t-shirt. Emma needs to know; she can't have closure until she knows the truth.
"If I told you she was the murderer and tried to attack me, does that make it any better?" Emma assesses each word carefully. Dean is telling the truth. He must have caught onto her trail, her motive, her pattern, and it was a clash of two opposing forces. Only one could make it out alive.
She can't believe she was stupid enough to never suspect Minnie of anything just for acceptance. Why have acceptance when the truth is just that much more important? Twice now, she wishes she had that mentality.
Emma can't tell Becca—it would destroy her. Eventually she'll find out.
"I don't know," she answers truthfully. But it's refreshing, as well as terrifying and saddening, to know. To not have suspicions and have the raw truth. After a lifetime of being lied to, she's just glad to be given only the actuality.
Emma pulls away from Dean and sits on the bed, a bit woozy as she processes the information. Despite the fact that Dean didn't dance around the truth he has still killed her coworkers, as a fake Fed. All of this was illegal despite this apparently being morally ethical. While Minnie and Emma aren't—weren't—particularly close, they'd still been through a lot together. And when Becca finds out… God, Emma shouldn't even be in town when it happens. She knows too much and is now part of it—she should report Dean to the police.
She's not going to.
Maybe it's her criminal record, maybe it's because she's scared of what people could dig up on her. Again, she's meant to run away, tail betwixt her thighs.
At least Emma can admit she's a coward.
"You won't… Emma, promise me you're not going to say anything." There is a bit of fear in Dean's voice and eyes. She knows this is the first time he's told someone about this, but he seems comfortable with the actions like it's a habit. Like it's his job.
"I won't," she quietly vows, running a hand through her hair.
The silence is so thick Emma can cut it with a knife.
"Going somewhere?" Dean finally asks, pointing to her haphazardly packed suitcase.
"I don't know," Emma quivers. "I don't know what to do…"
Dean steps up to her and places his hands gently on her shoulders. "Breathe in," he orders.
She does so.
"Breathe out." His voice is soothing, and she blindly listens.
After a few breaths, Dean says, "Now stand up." Emma slowly concedes. He's tall, she now notices.
Dean pulls her into another hug, and Emma can't help but calm down. It just feels too nice. All of it is unbelievable, too terrible and too amazing at the same time. She can't give into it. She can't go back to square one.
"It's gonna be okay, trust me," he assures, hesitantly petting her hair.
And yet she really wants to. After Neal, she's forgotten just how good this feels, how much she actually misses this.
And maybe she just really has a thing for criminals.
Emma pulls away slightly, but not out of Dean's embrace. She just takes off her glasses and sets them on the nightstand. This is what he likes, isn't it?
She finds it comical just how easy it is to let it all go, stop thinking, have no morals. Emma turns off her brain and kisses Dean, throwing three years of resistance out the window. It's warm and assuring and gentle, and that's how she knows he's right—it's all going to be okay.
Emma is the one making the moves—she sits him on the bed, she pulls his shirt over his head, she undoes his pants. All of Dean's touches are caresses, very soft as he treats her like there's nothing more perfect. It terrifies her just how fast she's melting in his hands and lips, kissing each of her freckles on her face and body. She reciprocates, heart pounding out of exhilaration more than uncertainty. In this moment, she does not regret the move she's made.
He's on his back, Emma atop him. There are condoms in his wallet, and he asks her if this is okay. Despite not knowing anything about him, she consents completely. She gives in and tells herself that she has control over the situation, despite the fact that nothing could be further from the truth.
Emma falls into his embrace and sighs, moving slowly. Dean takes into account just how overwhelming this is and seldom speaks. Everything moves together, and for a few moments, Emma is at peace with herself, and nothing is wrong.
Afterward, Emma rolls over and lays her head on Dean's shoulder, not sure what to do or say. She doesn't want this to be the awkward afterglow where she kicks him out or he leaves. She should be pissed at herself for this but she's not, not here and not now.
She's fallen into bed with a stranger and she wonders why this isn't making her mad when she's sworn off men forever. But there's just something about Dean that's both too assuring and too dangerous at the same time.
"I don't have work tomorrow," she declares, just to set him at ease. The diner is closed on Sundays, just to give its employees some freedom before the miserable coming week.
Dean knows this means not to leave, so he faces toward her. "And here I thought you didn't like me," he replies, stroking her arm gently.
"Tough wall to break is all," she assures.
They spend the next few hours just talking. There are some things they don't reveal, but Emma learns that Dean has a younger brother at Stanford with a full ride, that his mother died when he was four and to this day there's never been anyone more beautiful, and that his father—like him—is on the road working odd jobs to find solace. Broken as he is, at least he has a family on which he can totally fall back. He has people to miss, people to yearn for.
Emma, on the other hand, reveals that her parents abandoned her on the side of the road somewhere in Maine with nothing but a first name adorning a knit blanket. She talks about all her terrible foster homes, wondering what she did as a baby to be abandoned so cruelly. She explains how Neal stole her heart and just how he betrayed her and sent her to prison. She doesn't even leave out her son, and how she just wanted a better life for him. All the while Dean strokes her arm in sympathy and assures her that none of it is her fault—she's just been given a shitty hand and she's trying to make the most of it. Hell, she's probably done better than most in her situation, not resorting to drugs or other harmful things to solve her problems, and her crimes aren't too large.
"You're doing well," he assures, and the fact that he's the first person to tell her she's not a screw up and that's she's doing okay with her life so far after prison.
He's so much like Neal, and so much not like Neal that Emma still can't make heads or tails of him. He scares her, he exhilarates her, he makes her incredibly tense, and he makes her want to throw all her common sense out the window.
"And you're going to be bad for business, I can tell," she teases, though she hopes she's wrong on that.
Dean smirks and kisses Emma again, and she knows, they're rarely going to leave the bed for a long while.
Over the next few weeks, Dean is usually in Emma's room, or she's in his, and though he's stopped going to the diner, he does give her money to bring him back a meal every once in a while. She suspects it's because he doesn't want to confront anyone after what he's done—sometimes Emma realizes she should chastise herself for sleeping with a murderer, but it's the charm, it's his ethics, it's… well, Emma is kind of happy, to be happy again, to the point where she's okay with these motions. Maybe she has this sort of hope that things will finally get better, and she's willing to do anything for it.
"I do have to admit, I miss your uniform," he comments in that tongue-in-cheek way she's starting to get used to.
"Yeah, well, the days where I never have to wear it again are what I look forward to most." Emma rolls her eyes; that pale yellow monstrosity makes her want to puke sometimes, with its puffed sleeves, Peter Pan collar, and modest (but still short) skirt. Of course it's what gets the geezers there in the first place, the promise of young women in short skirts and biting attitudes.
Dean plucks the greasy paper bag she's brought for him from her hands with a short kiss and Emma can't stand the fact that there are still butterflies in her stomach when their lips touch.
She can't stand the fact that she really likes Dean, because that always makes her too wary of the future.
His cell phone rings. It's been doing that a lot lately, she realizes.
"You gonna get it this time?" Emma raises a brow at Dean, trying to get a glance at the caller ID, but with no avail as Dean quickly denies the call and pockets his cell.
"Not that important," he says quickly, and while Emma knows he's hiding something, she knows she's not going to get anything out of him.
So she shrugs it off and sits on the bed, and he follows suit, starting to dig into his food. "And your day was…?" he asks, just being polite.
"You fill in the blank," Emma teases, flipping her hair. She's been wearing it down much more often, taking it out of its ponytail as soon as she changes out of her uniform. She realizes that, yeah, it does make her feel prettier to feel the loose blonde waves down her back. And no, it's not because Dean likes it.
"Terrible, as usual?" he guesses.
"Decent tips today." She shrugs. "Usually I do better if families sit in my station. But this really isn't something I wanna do for the rest of my life."
"Then what do you want to do?" he inquires, mouth full of beef and bacon.
"I don't know. But I need to get out of here soon. Found this place right outside Boston, and I almost have enough for the down payment," she explains, playing with her hands in her lap. One step closer to freedom. One step closer to a better life.
"You and me both. The place is kind of boring, but I'm used to backwater towns like this." Dean crumbles his wrapper and tosses it in the trash.
There's a huge difference between them. Dean doesn't have a home, much as he might want one. Emma is so close to finally having one, and she needs a set pace to be. She doesn't know what it feels like to fully move in someplace. And Dean doesn't remember either, but there's something in his life that parents him from settling anywhere.
There's a comfortable silence between them. Dean lays back and Emma follows, facing him on her side. He does the same and takes off her glasses and leans in so she can see him better, and he's smiling at her.
"You have a few freckles," he notices, reaching up to poke one.
Emma scrunches her nose in disgust. "Never liked 'em," she replies softly. "If I could afford more makeup I'd cover them up."
Dean chuckles and points to his own face. "Never remembered much of what my mom said to me, but she always said angels were watching, and that's why I've got 'em—apparently each freckle is an angel's kiss."
That makes Emma laugh. "If only!" she exclaims.
"Yours are cute, though."
"Shut up." Emma playfully shoves Dean and rolls her eyes again. "You're so full of it." But she's still smiling.
A few more moments and Dean leans in for a kiss—deeper this time. Emma reciprocates and lifts a hand up to cup his jaw, really enjoying the sharp angle of it, the firmness.
"Let's go somewhere tomorrow," Dean suddenly declares as he pulls away.
"You mean a date?" Emma asks, wondering why he doesn't just say it.
"No," Dean clarifies, smile suddenly gone. Ah. So that's why. Of course, for a guy who's spent his whole life without commitments, he's not ready to start now. "But I'm bored of just sticking around here with a routine. So let's try something new."
"Now?" Emma looks hopeful.
"How about tomorrow after your shift? Plenty of time to grab a drink," Dean answers instead, shrugging.
"Sure," Emma agrees, a bit disappointed, but it's—for lack of a better word—a date. "So what do we do in the meantime?"
Smirking, Dean reaches down and places a hand on her hip. "I have an idea or two…" he murmurs, and he seals her lips in a kiss.
For once, Emma is optimistic.
"Do you need to shower?" Emma asks Dean when the alarm from the clock goes off.
"Hm—too early," Dean replies, groggy and muffled against the pillow.
She figures this is the case and shrugs, just thinking it's the polite thing to do. Luckily she's already undressed, so she just grabs clean clothes and walks to the bathroom.
While under the too light spray she can't stop smiling thinking about the afternoon ahead. There's a lot more trust going on between her and Dean, and she knows this is a major step for him in whatever they have going on. Emma knows it's kind of terrible to be in such a vulnerable position, as it's never brought her any good before, but just the feeling of liking someone is too good for her to deny.
After three years, she needs this. She deserves this.
So when she finishes her shower Emma changes and leans over to give Dean a lingering kiss on his cheek, and he hums contently.
"See you soon, Ace," she murmurs, ruffling his short hair before shuffling out the door to her Bug.
And, much as she tries to stay as somber as Becca, who's been pretty pale ever since Minnie's "disappearance," Emma is still pretty chipper, even helping the new girl deal with the more rude customers. She gives a cheerful smile to all the people at her station, and it really pays off—the tips are pretty good today, and since it's paycheck day, that makes things even better. Even the uniform isn't really bothering her, nor are the leering pervs. Her shift seems to go by so much faster with her mind on her first date in what seems like so long.
She's practically humming when she changes and picks up her wages—Hank is fine paying her "under the table" with cash and she gladly pockets it. She'll get back, and she'll have Dean, and things can only go up from there. She can't even remember what happiness really feels like, that's probably why it feels so good right now. It doesn't matter that she knows nothing about him. Emma is blindly going with her gut just because she's so tired of pushing and resisting and failing to be selfless.
It takes everything within her to not rush so eagerly back to the motel. But she just hums and taps her fingers on the steering wheel to distract herself. She can do this without looking like a total idiot. She's done it before.
But that smile drops immediately as soon as she pulls into the motel parking lot and it's absent one very distinct '67 Chevy Impala.
Don't think the worst, she tells herself, taking a deep breath as she parks. He could be out to get some gas or something. Emma will not hyperventilate or cry. That only shows weakness for a man, and Emma is not weak.
So maybe she'll just wait in her room, touch up her makeup and shake her hair out as she waits. Get herself to look good, if just to boost her own self-esteem.
But, as she walks in the door, she notices Dean's toothbrush is gone and there's a note on the nightstand—a folded up sheet of the motel's stationery with a few Franklins sticking out of it, and it's addressed to her.
Emma's heart sinks as she picks it up with shaking hands and slowly reads and processes the information.
"Emma,
I'm sorry, but duty calls. Here's for the rest of the down payment on that place—least I can do for leaving like this when you don't deserve it. But this is really important. Strong girl like you will do well out there. Maybe one day I'll see you again in Boston.
—Dean"
There's no last name. There's no phone number. There's no hint of where he might be going, nor if she'll ever see him again.
This, and her stupid memories, are all she has. And, like it or not, Emma has to live with them—can't just take them away with a flick of the wrist.
There is one thing he's given her, though. A lesson. A way out. Emma promised herself she wouldn't cry, and much as she would like to for being so stupid, she has to uphold this. If she had any dignity she would burn the money over the sink. Instead she pockets it, because this place is now poison. She can't stand it. It makes her sick.
So Emma packs all her things, checks out, fills up her tank, and breathes as she travels down the black, open road. She can't trust Dean, she can't trust anyone. She trusted Minnie, even, and she apparently killed Gil and Old Joe. No. She's gotta wear this stoic face to protect herself from now on, no matter how good the past few weeks might have been. She doesn't think about leaving poor Becca behind or bailing from her job. She doesn't think about her son or Neal.
No, she's running away again, like she always does. But this time her head is held high.
All she can think of is Boston, and that the next time—if—she ever sees Dean again, he'd better watch his back.
He didn't put his mind too much to it as he left, he just drove like he always does. This isn't the first girl he's leaving behind, he tells himself. It's certainly not the last.
So why does this one kind of hurt a bit? Is it because Emma reminds him of Mary, of himself? Is it because he knows he's done her so completely wrong for running away like this after what she's told him?
No, gotta think about what John said. He's been calling so much and Dean's been ignoring them because of Emma, and because he's really liking his independence more and more. He's wrapped up this case; what's wrong with getting some tail?
But there was a connection. Dean was starting to not only feel for this girl, but really like her as well. Hell, a few times he'd been considering telling her about the life. A girl like Emma doesn't show up too often, he knows.
Yet he hasn't given her any information about him. He just can't risk it. John would kill him at first, that's for sure. Sammy, if Dean still talked to him, would be happy. So what's better?
It's when Dean listened to all those voicemails this morning, though, that's when he had his decision made. He can't help who his family is and what happened all those years ago. And there's no forgetting that night.
He's fucked up colossally, he realizes. John might kill him now.
He listens to the voicemails again, swallowing hard.
"Dean, call me. Need to know if you finished that werewolf case yet. Might be onto something."
Typical. He always leaves a message like that after every case. Dean deletes it now.
"Dean, you need to call me back." John's voice is really stern. "I hope this ain't over some girl. You've got more important stuff to deal with. Think I found something on that son of a bitch."
The next few messages are like that. Dean deletes them all. He likes Emma. He wants to take her out, see if there's even more they have in common. It's really something he wants, someone he understands who can empathize back. And it's a goddamn chick flick moment, he knows that. It wouldn't be if maybe he's gotten to know her better and understand her, taken her up under his wing. She could be a decent hunter, he can tell. But it probably isn't want she wants.
It all comes to a halt in the last message.
"God damn it, Dean, where the hell has your head been these last few weeks? You're gonna put some girl you barely know over your own mother? Come on, boy, y'know blood run thicker than water. And I found the demon, Dean. I finally found the son of a bitch that killed your mother and I'm tracking him."
John gives Dean a location; this was just the night before. And with one message Dean finds himself leaving without another thought. Emma could be that beacon of hope, on the other hand. And he's lost her because true, he hasn't known Mary like John has, but there's only one woman he's capable of loving, and she's sadly the ghost of a beautiful woman he'd only seen a bit in his childhood.
It's terrible because there's a semblance of her in Emma.
But overall, this is the right thing to do.
She's going to resent him; he's probably never going to see her again. They're going in opposite directions, but both toward their futures.
Emma's is to settle in Boston. Dean might just help his dad kill the bastard that killed Mary Winchester and put a close to this old mystery.
They are crossing stars. There was a tryst—a fun one. One if, given more time, might have turned into something more substantial. He sees John finally softening over time, Sam being more present. He imagines an alternate universe where perhaps he finds happiness with her.
But there is only the open road and a bleak future. Because when stars cross, things never end well.
Also because this is set in canon-verse, there's no way they can run off together. I always liked to think that maybe they crossed paths somewhere before their shows start, and decided to write it. So, hopefully it's believable and that you like it!
As always, I love reading reviews!
Till next time,
~Eliza
