Dean didn't say a word the entire way back to Jody's, his face an unreadable mask. Despite his anger, Dean insisted that he and Allison stay in the same room , for safety purposes. He threw the weapons bag into the corner with more force than necessary, knocking it into the side table and displacing an alarm clock and a small notebook.
Jody looked between the two of them; the tension was palpable, and she wondered if either of them recognized the true source of their passion. "I'm gonna go start dinner," she announced awkwardly, spinning around and leaving the two of them to hash it out.
There was a moment of silence as they stared each other down. "What the hell were you thinking?" Dean finally shouted, gesturing like an Italian bard.
"You're welcome," she muttered in reply, stripping off her torn jacked and frowning at the matching holes in the sweater beneath.
"You could have gotten yourself killed! I had it under control!" He was still yelling, holding onto the outer shell of anger so as not to dwell on exactly what emotion was fueling that ire.
"Bull. Shit."
"I told you to wait in the back."
"Which I did! I did wait. And I watched as you and Jody were tossed around like goddamn ragdolls. And I did nothing, Dean!" she hissed, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes and Dean's expression softened. Damn hormones. She didn't want to cry, she was angry! Or maybe terrified. Or exhausted. Probably all three. "And then you hit your h-head against that altar." Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "You didn't… you weren't moving. I thought –" Her thoughts were interrupted by the fat, uncontrollable tears that began streaming down her cheeks.
Dean's resolve faltered; he hated seeing chicks cry in general, but this was new. Girls were known to cry because of him, but this was the first time one had cried for him and it nearly broke his damn heart. Still, he tried to remain firm and blew out a breath. "You weren't thinking, Allison; it's not just you you've gotta look out for anymore."
"But I can't- I can't-" …get out an entire sentence, apparently.
Dean stepped forward so he was close enough that he had to look down at her. "Yes. You can." Allison pressed her lips tightly together, her face scrunched in an attempt to hold back tears, and shook her head. "You're strong enough for this." He reached out and covered her stomach with his large hand. "You're strong enough for this."
She covered his hand with hers and leaned into him, taking deep breaths until the tears dried up. "I'm sorry I ran into the church," she conceded, though he didn't offer an apology of his own. With her head against his chest, she was soothed by the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat against her cheek. Her free hand traveled aimlessly across his torso, dipping into the crevices between his well-defined abs and tracing the deep valley of his sternum.
His muscles clenched involuntarily, taken off guard by the unexpected – though not unpleasant – stimulation. His hand twisted into the fabric of her shirt, bringing her closer. Her hips rocked gently against him and he closed his eyes in an attempt to override his more primal nature. God, who even was he anymore?
"We shouldn't do this," he warned.
"Do what?' she asked innocently, her voice deep and velvety.
Just a moment ago she had been crying her eyes out and now she was rubbing up against him like a horny teenager. He couldn't keep up with her mood swings, and told himself they were still just coming down from the adrenaline high, they were both just looking for a release. And he didn't know whether that logic was an argument for or against sleeping together.
Dean's hand traveled up her waist and over her ribs, his thumb just barely brushing the tip of her hardened nipple as his palm grazed her breast on its way to rest on her shoulder.
"Mmm," she moaned, arching her back in response, which caused her chest to jut out and press against his.
"This is a bad idea," he reiterated, though with less conviction than before.
"Why?" she breathed, her own hands reaching under his shirt at the small of his back. She dragged her fingers up and down his spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps along his skin and a swirling heat within his core.
"I'm supposed to be protecting you," he ground out between his teeth.
She ducked under his arm so that she was curled around his back, her hands now roaming his chest and stomach. "You're supposed to be satisfying all of my needs." She planted kisses from the tip of one shoulder blade to the other and tucked one of her hands just beneath the waistline of his jeans, right below his bellybutton. "I need this. Pleasssse," she begged, lingering on the 's'.
Dean was at a loss. He rarely turned down the things he wanted, whether it be booze, violence, or sex – and god, did he want the sex right now. But something still nagged at him, telling him he shouldn't do this. He tried to shove that feeling into the deepest recesses of his mind.
Dean was standing still as a statue, neither engaging in nor denying her request, and Allison began to doubt herself. She removed her hands from his body and placed her chin on his shoulder so she could whisper in his ear. "It's okay, Dean. W-we don't have to." Dean sighed at the disappointment evident in her voice, turning his head to rest his temple on hers. "I know… I know I'm not –"
She struggled to give voice to one of the many insecurities she had about herself in that moment. She was short. Her nose was too big. Her hips were too small. She was confused and afraid and in mourning. She was stubborn. She had commitment issues. And a temper. And oh yeah – she was carrying another man's baby.
Dean whipped around when he felt fresh tears blossoming on his cotton t-shirt. She turned away from his scrutinizing gaze, embarrassed and hurt by his rejection. "I'm gonna take a shower," she murmured, taking off toward the bathroom with her impromptu excuse.
"Hey, wait a second," Dean said, jogging around her and blocking her hasty retreat.
"What, Dean? I said it's fine," she gruffed, swiping hastily at the wetness still beneath her eyes.
"Is it?" He had been grappling with his own moral boundaries when her intentions had changed so suddenly, he wasn't exactly sure what had happened.
Allison was practically hopping in place; why couldn't he just let her go and lick her wounds in peace already? "Yes, Dean. It's either there or it's not. It was for me, and I thought…" Now that the fog of arousal had cleared from her head, she didn't know what she'd been thinking. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
She turned again to go into the bathroom, but he still had hold of her arm. "Hold on a damn minute, here." Allison stopped pulling, but didn't turn back to face him. "You think- you think I stopped what was happening back there because… because I wasn't attracted to you?" The idea sounded ridiculous to him; in fact, it was a goddamn miracle that the button of his jeans was still holding his pants together in the midst of his straining erection.
Allison flinched and shrugged her free shoulder; it sounded shallow and petty when he put it that way, and she mistook his incredulity for ridicule. "Or it would be too… complicated." She couldn't help glancing down at her stomach, which didn't escape Dean's notice.
Damn it all to hell; well, this is what Dean got when he tried to be fucking chivalrous and do the honorable thing – blue balls and a crying woman he'd somehow convinced was undesirable. He wanted to take her right then and there, just to show her hot goddamn sexy he thought she was. But he knew the twisted way women's minds worked, and she would probably just see it as a pity lay.
"Can I go now?"
Dean released his grip, which he hadn't even realized he still had on her, and she shuffled into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
Allison spun the water on full blast and tried to keep the waves of emotion at bay, but she had trouble determining whether she was mad or humiliated or just sexually frustrated. Her perceptions shifted often and unexpectedly, catching her off guard with their intensity and nearly causing her knees to buckle. In her unstable state, a bath probably would have been the safer bet, but she was hoping that the squeal of the hot water running would muffle her outbursts. It didn't.
Dean sat on the bed, back against the wall, as he listened to the cries of the girl on the other side of the door. Crying because of him. Because they both wanted to have sex, but for some goddamn stupid reason he had fucked it all up.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid." He muttered the mantra over and over as he banged his head against the drywall. When the water shut off, he quickly sprawled out horizontally and pretended to be asleep, trying to save them both from any unnecessary confrontation. Allison took her time before coming back into the room – as much time as possible, examining the contents of the medicine cabinet, drawing shapes in the steamy mirror – and by the time she slipped on some clean clothes, he wasn't pretending anymore.
Allison padded out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen where, as promised, Jody was busily dicing and sautéing more fresh food than she'd seen in days.
"Two go in, only one comes out. I don't need to know the details, but I'd appreciate a heads up if there are blood stains on any of the linens." She looked at Allison seriously. "'Cause that's gonna need to soak."
Allison smiled, but it was more polite than amused. "Anything I can do to help?"
"How are you with a knife?"
"Fantastic, but Dean is sleeping and I probably shouldn't be trusted with sharp objects at the moment." She smiled innocently as Jody tossed her a wooden spoon, nodding to the package of meat that was browning on the stove.
They settled into a comfortable silence for a few minutes, but a sudden wall of nausea hit Allison over the head like a ton of bricks. The potent spices rode a wave of hot, wet steam from the greasy meat and caused her to double over, desperately swallowing back the bile that simmered at the base of her throat. She couldn't escape the smell in the kitchen, and wasn't sure she would make it to the bathroom, and so instead threw open the side door and stumbled out onto the porch.
Without missing a beat, Jody finished cooking the meat and turned off the stove before joining Allison outside. She inhaled deeply, savoring the cool, crisp night air.
Allison was hunched over the railing, head resting on crossed arms. "I'm sorry," she said, though the sound was muffled against her skin.
"Don't worry about it. When I was pregnant with my son, my morning sickness was so bad I threw up in my mother-in-law's urn. At least you made it to the bushes." Allison turned to gape at her. "What, like it wasn't obvious?"
"Dean never seemed to pick up on it."
"Yeah, well, Dean's a guy, and guys are idiots." Allison picked at a fleck of paint peeling off the wooden railing. "Is it… I mean, is Dean…?"
Allison shook her head. "Nope. Just doing a friend a favor." She met Jody's inquisitive gaze. "You know how he does that." It was why they were there.
"I do. But honey, I've known Dean a long time, and the way he looks at you?" Allison averted her gaze and crossed her arms over her chest. Jody put a hand on her shoulder and she flinched. "You're not just a favor."
After that, Jody banished Allison from the kitchen, insisting that she relax on the couch until dinner was ready.
Dean cracked his eyes open, his other senses having picked up on the fact that there was food somewhere in the house waiting to be eaten. His head was throbbing and his ribs ached, but what hurt the worst was that he'd woken up alone.
"Time to pay the piper," he muttered to himself, wiping the sleep from his eyes and swapping out his battle-worn t-shirt for a flannel button down.
"I was just about to come get ya," Jody said as he rounded the stairs, placing a final dish in the center of the small dining room table.
"Where's –" Jody nodded toward the couch and Dean walked up behind it. He leaned against the back, his large hands squishing deep indents into the overstuffed pillows as he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. "I'm sorry. You deserve better," he confessed in barely more than a whisper. He leaned down to place a chaste kiss on her temple before going to sit down across from Jody. She was staring at him with an expectant, almost admonishing expression. "What?"
"You do right by her, Dean Winchester." Jody extracted a large corner of the lasagna and flopped it onto Dean's plate.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I just hope you know what you're getting yourself into."
Dean shoveled of forkful of the pasta into his mouth and scowled. "I didn't get myself into anything."
"Oh, that's right. Because you're just doing a favor. For a friend." Her words dripped with sarcasm.
"Yeah, I am. And it's almost cost me my ass about half a dozen times already." Jody crossed her arms over her chest and continued to stare. "And I like my ass; it's a good ass!"
"Dean, I know this is not your area of expertise, but listen to me. Being a parent is hard; being a single parent is damn near superhuman. And I don't know what the grand plan is, but the longer you're in that girl's life – a day, a month, a year? – the harder it'll be for both of you when you do cut ties."
Dean took a long draw on the beer he'd been nursing and then clanked the empty bottle down on the table. He leaned back in the wooden chair and ran his hands down his face. "What am I gonna do?"
"Well, what is it that you want?"
Dean let out a bark of laughter; it was only recently that he had asked Allison that very same question. Funny enough, the only answer he had was the same as hers had been. "I can't have what I want." Jody cocked an eyebrow at him. "Alright, it would be a really bad idea for me to have what I want."
Jody pursed her lips and shook her head sadly. "You're both idiots."
"Smart enough to save your ass today," he muttered, mouth full.
The meal continued with no more discussion of the future, instead focusing on the present. Dean talked about Sam and his sudden independent streak, for some reason feeling it necessary to perform solo missions and reclaim his future or some crap like that; and Jody gushed over how well her misfit 'children' were doing, considering their tumultuous upbringing.
Two hours had passed before Dean finally dropped his fork with a clang – a white flag of surrender signaling that he was officially stuffed. "Should we, uh –" he nodded to the other room where Allison was still snoozing away.
"I wouldn't, but she's probably going to be starving when she does wake up."
Dean helped Jody clear the table, load the dishwasher, and put away the leftovers. When there was nothing left to do, she went to bed but told Dean to make himself at home. He hovered in indecision for a minute before going into the living room.
Allison was on her back, and Dean gingerly lifted her legs to take a seat at the end of the couch, placing her petite ankles into his lap. Before long, she had twisted and fidgeted enough to turn herself entirely around so that her head rested on Dean's thighs. He absently ran his fingers through her soft hair, continuing the motion down her neck and back. Despite the fact that they'd only known each other a few days, this felt normal; it felt good.
"Maybe we can make this work," Dean said to no one in particular.
He must have dozed off at some point, because the next time Dean opened his eyes he was on the couch alone. There was some rummaging and clanging in the kitchen, and he was about to draw his weapon when he saw Allison's short legs dangling off the countertop on which she perched. She was shamelessly digging into cold leftovers – lasagna, salad, bread, and chocolate cake all thrown together on the same plate and swirled together in an indistinguishable mass.
"Hungry?"
Allison narrowed her eyes at him. "Only because no one bothered to tell me when the damn food was ready." She shoveled another forkful into her mouth – this particular combination seemed to consist of mozzarella cheese, lettuce, and buttercream frosting.
"Someone's cranky at –" he glanced at the oven clock, "3:30 in the morning."
Allison snorted. Cranky was not the word she would have used for her current state; uncomfortably horny, maybe. "Hey, you entered into conversation with a tired, hungry pregnant woman of your own volition. I take no pity on you," she said gesturing to him with her utensil.
"Fair enough," he conceded, stepping into the room. "Speaking of which… I was thinking—well, you're gonna be on someone's hit list as long as that bun's in your oven and I think the safest thing to do would be to have you stay in the bunker with me and my brother at least until you have the kid and then if we all live that long we can figure out where to go from there." The words tumbled out of him in one long, unbroken stream and when he finally paused for a breath he noticed that Allison was gaping at him. "I mean, if you want."
Allison sat there processing for a moment. He was offering so much – his home, his support, his family, his life. She set the plate down and hopped down onto the floor; she closed the gap between them and looked up into his unreadable eyes. "Are you sure?" This was no small commitment. It was too much. It was—
He nodded.
Allison took another step forward and rested her forehead against his strong chest. Dean's arms circled around her shoulders and his hands traced soothing patterns into her back. It was at that moment that her stomach announced with a loud gurgle that it was still not quite full. Dean pulled back and the corner of his mouth quirked up. He reached over and grabbed her plate from the counter, setting it back into her hands.
"Now. Finish this god-awful concoction you call dinner, get some rest, and we'll head out in the morning."