Chapter Four

Alyssa had just finished emptying her leather bag, placing her clothes in the deep drawers of the dark wood dresser when there was a light knock on her room door. She peeked through the peephole to see Dean standing on the other side.

"Hey," she opened the door to find him holding the side of his face where she'd hit him. "Are you okay?"

"Still a little sore, but I'm okay."

She stepped back and let him enter the room, trying desperately to keep control of the desire to just take him and make him hers all over again. This is not the time or place for that right now, she told herself.

"You need some ice for that?"

"No, it's not as bad as earlier. Just a headache now."

"Or maybe your brain hurts from lack of use." She waited for him to sit down on the bed, grimacing when he instead lay down as if to stay a while. Her gut twisted and her skin warmed remembering what he felt like next to her, skin to skin. She shook her head a bit to clear the thoughts. "I wanted to apologize for hitting you."

Dean couldn't find a comeback to her snide remark, so he let it go, for now. "I deserved it. Been waiting for someone to do it. Just wish it hadn't been you. You hit pretty hard for a girl." He rubbed his chin.

"Want me to do it again? I think you're missing an important element of comparison. You might need a second opinion?" She pulled her arm back as if to give him another well placed right hook across his face.

Dean put his hands in the air as if to surrender. "No. I'm good. You hit hard. Okay? Better?"

"Much better."

He could still smell her shampoo, the same shampoo she'd used for years. It filled him with the feeling of something familiar, something comforting, almost like home.

"Uh, there's a…I'm kind of…would you like to…" he stumbled over the words he had in his head, not knowing exactly what to say to her.

"Just spit it out, Dean." She sat on the bed next to him, her back aching terribly from the long car ride and the pressure of the baby moving around.

"You hungry?" Two words, that's it? He chided himself.

"Yeah," she chuckled at his attempt to ask her to dinner. "How about we order in though? I'm not much in the mood to sit down for a long time to eat a meal."

"You okay?" Dean sat up on the bed, throwing his legs over the edge, feeling the light throbbing in his head from the abrupt movement.

"I'm fine." She didn't want his sympathy or even his empathy. She wasn't sure what she wanted at the moment. "Just tired. It was a long drive home." She got up from the bed heading to the bathroom. "Hey, you order food while I go take a bath to help this loosen up."

Dean listened as she started the bath water, remembering the last time he'd sat in a tub with her.

She'd been feverish with some kind of infection or demonic touch, or whatever it was. He'd had to lay with her in the bath to help break her fever. His heart had nearly plummeted into his stomach at the thought of losing her back then. He shook off the thoughts, concentrating on getting food.

Dean found the menu in the bedside table drawer. "What do you want to eat?"

Alyssa poked her head out of the door, obviously hiding the fact she wasn't wearing much more than a towel. "Burgers and fries are fine with me."

He picked up the phone and ordered two orders of burgers and fries with apple pie and ice cream for dessert and a beer and a soda.

With the food on the way, Dean wasn't sure of what to do next. He remained on the bed, staring at the bathroom door.

Sam had said for him to tell her how he felt about her. But what could he say? He didn't even know how he felt about her.

Dean thought back to the first time he'd seen her: the night in the house with the werewolf holding her captive.

As her life seemed to be spinning out of control around her, she'd had the strength to fight for her own life. From that moment, Dean had nothing but respect for the girl who took on a fight even when she knew there was the possibility she would lose.

Four years later, they'd met up again at Bobby's. It was her eighteenth birthday, and Dean finally took notice of her as more than just a kid. She'd grown into a beautiful woman and a lethal hunter.

She was his match in the use of weapons and in hand-to-hand combat, but she had surpassed him in wits and wisdom. It should have bothered him how much smarter she was than him, but she never let it come between them as friends.

They had decided to do a hunt together, not telling his dad or Bobby, for fear they would refuse to let them go. Instead, it was agreed, they'd tell the parents they were going camping for target practice and outdoor survival training.

It seemed to have worked with his dad, but Bobby had eyed him suspiciously before they'd left.

The hunt they'd found was for a banshee. In a small town about six hours from Bobby's junkyard, there were several missing persons reported. All of them had something in common; they were all men, and at every crime scene there had been a comb left behind.

Some legends of the banshee say she will leave a comb on the ground to lure unsuspecting humans to her and spirit them away never to be seen again. The fact the victims were all men gave Alyssa somewhere to start on the investigation.

She'd discovered the banshee was the result of a domestic dispute turned fatal. The husband had beaten and murdered his wife in a fit of uncontrolled rage. Apparently the young woman's body had never been found her murder never solved. Her spirit then stayed on this plane, seeking to avenge her own death by killing men she could capture.

Alyssa had concocted a plan to lure her to them, hopefully keeping them both safe enough to rid the world of the banshee. To set the trap, he'd had to attack Alyssa. They had to pretend to be fighting, but make it as real as possible. Once the spirit was trapped, Alyssa was to perform Last Rites, has her body hadn't been given a proper Catholic burial.

At just the right moment, the play began. They'd started an argument about something, but he couldn't remember exactly what it had been about. She had said something about his father, pissing him off to the point that he forgot about the original plan, and he had hit her full force. As she fell back, screaming and crying, the perfect actress, he remembered where he was and what he had done. He wanted to apologize, reach for her, and make sure she was okay, but she kept the scene moving along.

Alyssa, in turn, attacked him, but not as though she were a hunter fully capable of incapacitating him with a well placed roundhouse kick. Instead, she attacked him like a girl, slapping at him, crying, screaming for him to love her or she was leaving.

Even though they were in the world of pretend, he had to grab her to keep her nails from scratching him, and doing some kind of damage to his face. Grabbing both of her wrists in his left hand, he twisted her around into his chest and gripped around her waist with his right arm, tightening so she couldn't escape.

Making sure the aggression was as real as possible, Dean had to rough her up some, threatening to take from her what he wanted since she hadn't given it up lately. He'd had her on the ground, his hand around her throat, and started to remove her clothes.

He had hesitated for just a moment, realizing the fear in her eyes could be genuine. To ease his doubts, she winked at him, and then fell right back into character, screaming at him to stop.

Just as he had pulled the knife from the sheath tucked into the back of his pants, the banshee appeared.

Dean had spun around, releasing Alyssa from his grasp, allowing her to escape around the other side of the banshee.

They had laid out a circle of salt right where they were hoping the spirit would show up, and it was Dean's job to get her into the circle if she wasn't close enough to it, so Alyssa could trap it by closing the salt line behind it.

The banshee wanted him, needed him to die to satisfy its hunger for revenge. He used her desire to kill him to move her into position within the circle.

Everything was working well up to the point when Alyssa had completed the circle of salt. The banshee began to wail, her anger and need for vengeance evident in her screams as she realized she was trapped.

Things went from bad to downright frightening.

The banshee realized what was happening, understanding she was going to be given her Last Rites, and thus be returned to the spirit world. She wasn't going without a fight, nor would she just let the two people who dared to stop her survive. The winds whipped around them, sending their tools scattering through the woods surrounding them, and slowly thinning the salt line they'd poured around her.

Dean could see the salt line being blown away, knowing they're time was short. The papers with the words to the Last Rite were all over the place and no longer in order. They were going to lose this one, and one of them could pay the ultimate price for their mistake. He'd looked to Alyssa for suggestions, but she seemed to be in a world all her own. Alyssa stared at the specter before them and stepped across the salt line, shouting words in a language Dean had never heard before. He knew Latin, he knew some Spanish, but he couldn't place the language she somehow knew by heart.

It seemed as though time had stopped at that one moment. He could Alyssa in the circle, her long brown hair flowing around her as if she were floating in water, her eyes darkened, focused only on the thing hovering in the air just a little higher than she stood. The banshee's mouth was open screaming and wailing, but no sound was coming out, her white hair flowed around her like Alyssa's, her eyes were as pale as twin moons.

Dean had no time to cover his eyes before the flash of light consumed him, blinding him briefly and then it was over. The night once again consumed everything, putting itself were it belonged.

Dean blinked, trying to regain his vision, and stumbled around the campsite hoping to find Alyssa, but she was gone. He panicked, knowing he couldn't return without her, and not wanting to lose her.

Where had she gone? What happened to her? Did the banshee take her as her last victim?

A low moan from a few feet back from the circle, hidden by the shadows of the night, cut through his fear.

He'd called to her and heard her answer him. She was fine, and it was over. Alyssa had won, taking the comb on the ground as her prize.

That night they'd celebrated their victory, sharing each other's thoughts, feelings, and fears. The moments of reflection became moments of sharing more than just words.

He had become her first love, and has he had learned later on, her last for many years.

Reflecting on their past together, and what they've shared, Dean realized he did feel something for her. It was more than what he had felt for Cassie, much more.

But was it love? He couldn't be sure, for he didn't know what love really felt like. He had no experiences with which to compare what he felt for Alyssa.

When they had split up in Arkansas, it nearly crushed him. He hid it well as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months. He tried with all his might to get her off his mind, putting all his energy into hunting down the demon and distracting himself with other willing women.

The guilt of those excursions crept into his heart. Would she forgive his indiscretions or hold it against him for all time, what little time he had left?

The deal again invaded his thoughts. She deserved better, better than him, better than what he could offer her. His son deserved a father that would be there, someone who would pitch a ball to him, teach him to ride a bicycle, be there when he learned to drive a car, and who would be there to see him become a man.

Dean suddenly realized he hated his father for what he'd been through in his life. Dad had trained him and Sam to be soldiers, passing on his obsessive mission to kill the demon that had murdered their mother.

Dean's job was always to protect Sam, never let anything happen to Sammy. In all the years he'd been there for his brother, not once did Dad ever say he'd done a good job, until the day he died. Only then did he say he was proud of him. Only then did he admit he was an ass for what he'd done to his children.

But even then, with his heart on his sleeve, the confession in the air, the orders didn't stop. His last words to Dean were to save Sam, again, protect him, and if he couldn't, he had orders to kill his own brother.

The seething hatred towards his father grew in Dean's soul; his hero was no longer worthy of his admiration. The true heroes were Sam and Bobby, and now Alyssa. They deserved his respect for they didn't put everything else over family. They were the people he knew would be there for him whenever he needed it. They were his true family, and Dad was nothing to him now.

Making up his mind to do what he could to bridge the gap between himself and Alyssa, Dean slowly made his way to the bathroom door and knocked as quietly as he could, not sure if he wanted to be heard.

"Come in, Dean." Came the voice from the other side.

She'd been wondering how long he was going to stay out there. She knew he couldn't pass up the chance to be around a naked woman, but she wasn't exactly the same as she was that last time they were together.

Her own thoughts had bothered her: would he want to see her again? Would he see her the same? Or would he think she was just too fat to be around?

Realistically, she knew being pregnant wasn't something to be ashamed of, especially as she had witnessed the miracle of her body changing as the baby grew. And she wasn't the kind of woman who cared what other people think. If she had cared, she wouldn't have become a hunter at all.

But Dean was different. He was important to her. It bothered her to think he might not be attracted to her any longer. It scared her to think he might even be angry with her for being pregnant.

She shoved her fears and thoughts aside, as she waited for him to enter the room.

He opened the door to the bathroom and took in the décor.

The walls were painted in off-whites and pale beiges, as if dabbed with sponges to give it a more haphazard feel. The vanity was huge, sporting two sinks and plenty of counter space. The Jacuzzi tub was set in the corner of the bathroom, surrounded by a privacy curtain, if it was needed, with a shower stall behind it.

"Just checking on you to make sure you're okay. You've been in here a while." Dean kept his eyes on other things around the bathroom, not sure if deserved the right to look at her naked form.

"I'm fine, and you're welcome to join me, if you like. These water jets are awesome." She leaned back in the tub, feeling her back muscles slowly releasing the tension, easing the pain in her lower body.

"Who's going to answer the door for the food?" Dean finally summed up the courage to look in her in the eye. He couldn't see much else of her past the bubbling water as the jets did their job.

She pointed to the wall next to her head. There was an intercom system that would allow her to not only answer the door but would also let her unlock the door so the busboy could deliver the food.

"You sure it's okay for…" Dean pointed at himself then the tub, indicating him joining her in the bath.

"Dean, just get in. It's not like we haven't seen each other naked before." She could see him blush a little, but just a little.

He stripped off his clothes and lowered himself into the warm roiling bath. His muscles were shouting their praise for this wonderful reprieve.

She smiled seeing him falling in love with the Jacuzzi jets that pumped the water against his back and thighs. Seeing him in the buff set things in motion inside her she wanted, no needed, to satisfy. She had thought of him often, the feel of his lips against hers, the way his body fit hers so well, their sweat mixing…she had to stop herself for fear of losing herself in another one of her memories.

The moment was awkward, both of them in the tub together, but on opposite sides, each of them afraid to be near or touch the other. Hesitation and apprehension swarmed their minds as each tried to size up the other as if they were enemies.

The father of her child was right there in front of her, but she just couldn't bring herself to approach him.

She asked herself questions, expecting the answers to come to her as they once did, through the voice in her mind: the voice that had been her friend for so many years, the voice she learned later was a connection to her mother's spirit.

Should she make the first move? Would he be receptive to her advances or would he reject her?

But no answers came to her. The voice was silent. Her mother's spirit was no longer with her, having sacrificed herself to protect her daughter. Alyssa sat in the water, suddenly feeling very alone.

The swelling on the side of his face seemed to be worsening. She felt guilty for hitting him as hard as she did.

She slowly scooted around in the tub, careful to keep the water level safely above her bare breasts. Her hair was long enough to cover her, but it didn't do much good when it was wet and floating around her.

As she raised her hand to his face, Dean moved back a bit, as if she was going to strike him.

"Hold still. I'm not going to hit you," she spoke softly.

"Hope not." Dean remained motionless, holding his breath, his heart speeding up as her fingers drew closer.

Her fingers gingerly touched the side of his face, feeling for anything that might be out of the ordinary, like a fracture or maybe a broken jaw. He could talk, which was sometimes a good thing, and it didn't seem as if anything were broken.

Her eyes scanned his face, catching sight of the scar on his forehead. She remembered their battle in the church that wasn't a church. Yellow Eyes had almost won that one. But this wound was fresher, more recent.

She recognized Bobby's handy work with stitching wounds, and knew the scar would be minimal at best. She'd had personal experience with his doctoring ability and her scars were hardly noticeable.

He could smell the scent of her hair, the shampoo she'd used ever since he'd known her. He knew the scent. It was something flowery, something ancient. Then it struck him: jasmine.

Alyssa remained as still as she could, afraid to move away, even more frightened to move any closer to him.

Where her hand had touched him, he once again could feel the warmth spreading across him, reaching into the inner core of his soul, and erasing his fears, easing his concerns, and removing all doubt from his mind.

He wanted more than anything, well almost more than anything, to talk to her about how she did it to him: how she just made him feel as if there was nothing wrong in the world. But he was pretty sure he wouldn't get an answer from her, as he believed she didn't know she was doing it, let alone how she was doing it.

With her so close to him, he could see her eyes staring directly into his. There were gold flecks sprinkled within the brown of her irises. He never really took notice of it before now, and it lent even more to the hypnotic nature of her eyes, the way the gold sparkled.

The heat in his gaze settled into her. All she had to do was move a bit closer to him, and she would once again feel his lips against hers, feel his passion igniting her own.

He could see the pulse in her neck as the blood raced through her veins. Her breathing had quickened, keeping pace with his.

A shiver went through her as she thought about what one more movement could lead to with him.

She couldn't take it anymore. She had to know if he would turn away from her, or if he would let her feel him against her one more time.

Alyssa leaned closer to him, wanting so much to have him, touch him, and feel him.

Dean held his breath as she made the first move, questioning why his own muscles refused to obey his commands to take her in his arms.

The smoldering embers between them ignited, their lips but a breath away from each other, the time was now, or never.