Chapter Seven

Author's Note:

Thanks for all your reviews… They make my heart go pitter-patter. Please keep them coming, I beg of you. I'm living on little else at the moment. lol

This chapter is a bit out of character for Dean, but I hope it's not too unbelievable.

Also,

Yay for season four premiering this Thursday!

Chapter Seven

Dean glanced over from time to time, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest that told him she'd managed to fall asleep. He kept the wheel as steady as possible along the country road, determined not to wake her. When his jacket slipped from her shoulders, he lifted it back up to ward off the chill he felt even through his clothes. What had been a warm day had turned into a bitterly cold night.

When he found himself crawling through the gates leading to the house, it felt like he'd been gone for years. It looked different now; empty. He wondered if it was because he now knew the tragedy that had taken place within its walls. He parked the car exactly where he had the night before, with a much different feeling stirring in him. He looked over at Erika, saw that she was still asleep, and barely contained the desire to push her hair away from her face. Her skin was pale still, even with the color sleep brought to it. She looked fragile, he thought, but knew she was everything but.

Something kicked in his chest that felt suspiciously like regret.

He sighed and leaned his head back on the seat. What the hell was he doing? He had no business playing with his own emotions, letting himself get so twisted up over a girl that he would, even with the best intentions, eventually leave.

A woman, he corrected. She'd seen the death of both parents, raised her little brother to the best of her ability, and had lived to see her only surviving family murdered in cold blood. In so many ways, she'd done what Dean had never managed to do—to go on living; to keep going without turning angry, bitter, or maladjusted. He admired her strength, but wondered what she was going through on the inside. He wanted to know her, needed to understand her, but hated himself for his weakness.

Torturing himself only a little more, he brushed his fingers lightly over her cheek in an effort to wake her up. The intimacy of the gesture stunned him, but Dean refused to look too much into it. She stirred but her eyes remained closed. He didn't have the heart to repeat the action, so he settled instead for gently shaking her shoulder until her piercing green-gray eyes looked into his.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Let's go inside."

"Yeah," she said sleepily. Her eyes still held the dreamy quality that only came after sound sleep, and he found himself staring at her.

"What is it?" she asked, blinking the sleep from her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered quickly. "I was just thinking. Let's go."

He walked her up to the house and through the door, ignoring the flickering lights that he'd almost gotten used to. He passed Sam and nodded his head that they were fine as he led Erika up a set of stairs opposite to the ones that went to his and Sam's bedrooms. At the landing, he let her lead him down a dark hallway until she came to a stop at the very end. She opened the door and walked just inside before turning to Dean and handing him the jacket that had been keeping her warm. He stayed just outside the doorway, unwilling to intrude into a space he knew was completely hers.

"Thank you, Dean."

He cleared his throat. "For what?"

"For staying with me tonight," she said, turning her head up to him. "It helped. More than you think."

"You scared the hell out of me," he found himself admitting before he could stop the words. "Taking off like that."

"I'm sorry," she said, and meant it.

Dean tipped his head down to her and she waited, feeling the sweet urgency of his breath against her skin. His broad hands fought the cold clinging to her as they slid slowly down her arms, his calluses scraping gently against her skin. Still holding her, he brushed his lips softly across her brow. Her eyelids fluttered shut and he wanted nothing more than to shut the door behind them and discover the rest of her.

He sucked in a quick breath and mentally swore.

"Get some sleep," he said on a whisper and turned to walk quickly back the way he'd come. Erika frowned at his back but closed the door, wondering if he would be waiting for her in the kitchen that night.

Dean swore at himself all the way down the stairs, where he found Sam waiting for him.

"What happened?" Sam asked, standing.

"Not now," Dean answered brusquely and started climbing the stairs to his own bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and threw his jacket on the bed, where he sat to cradle his head in his hands.

--

Sam watched his brother practically run up the stairs, heard the slam of his door and could only wonder what the hell was going on. He sat back down in the armchair and stared at the lukewarm coffee by his hand. It didn't sound good at the moment, and he let it rest. He would warm it up later.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that whatever was happening with Dean had to do with Erika. Sam could have laughed—he couldn't remember a girl putting him so out of sorts in quite a while. Somehow, though, the humor was missing when he thought of the anguish on Dean's face. Knowing Dean like he did, he could only guess that his brother was well past physical attraction it came at one of the worst possible time.

Sam was determined to not let this be the end for him. His research was taking him a few different routes, but nothing had turned up yet. His search was long from over, though, and it wouldn't be until he'd found the solution that would keep Dean out of Hell. Every time he looked at him, Sam could feel the clock ticking and desperation renewed itself within him.

He hadn't been sleeping well lately. He told himself it was the coffee, but he knew better. It was the nightmares. It was watching Dean suffer night after night. It was the completely and total desolation that came after waking up in a cold sweat with his brother's name on his lips.

It was feeling helpless.

He knew Dean was just as affected, but also knew he wouldn't show it to anyone but himself. He begged Sam to leave it be, knowing that Sam wouldn't and believing that his little brother would have hope when he didn't dare. So many times, Sam had shown enough hope for the both of them. Maybe this time it would save Dean, and by saving Dean, save them both.

And he knew he wouldn't find his solution doing nothing. Grabbing his coffee cup, he pushed himself out of the chair. He would warm up his coffee—probably make more—and hit the books until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.

While Sam made coffee and Dean sat thinking, Erika stared out the doors of her balcony and wondered at the both of them. She'd never met two more fascinating, or confusing, people.

She smiled when she thought of Sam. He was sweet, but she wasted no time fooling herself that he was innocent. She knew that he was tough when he needed to be, and that potential made her respect him. As much as she hated to admit it, she liked him so much more because he reminded her of Nick. The shaggy hair, tall frame, and puppy dog eyes were bittersweet qualities the two shared. She remembered his concerned face in the library and smiled to herself, feeling ridiculous.

Dean, she thought with a sigh. He was someone she could think over the rest of her life and never figure out completely. On a completely fundamental level she wanted him; honestly, more than she had any business wanting anybody. He was all male, she thought with a smirk; broad shoulders, a strong jaw line, and a smile that could easily melt her to a puddle at his feet. She smiled when she thought of his come-ons and wondered idly how many other times they'd worked.

On other levels… it was different. He was different. He loved his brother, worried about him. He was more compassionate than people were willing to allow, and could be intimate when least expected.

She wondered why he seemed to believe that he didn't deserve to be happy. That much was obvious from the haunted look in his eyes; altruism became a curse far too often. He was content to save everyone but himself, she knew, but had no idea what he was sacrificing himself to. Or why.

Shrugging out of her clothes, she crawled into bed. Sleep found her quickly and left her wondering about the man with the quick smile and tormented eyes.

Dean lay in bed, wondering who he would find if he went down to the kitchen. In all the drama of the night, he'd forgotten to eat. Erika was probably already asleep, he convinced himself. She'd been tired enough to pass out in the car on the way home so he had no trouble believing she was sound asleep now, like she should be. He thought briefly that she could have problems sleeping after dealing with everything. It wasn't a stretch; even he had nightmares occasionally. Recently, more often than not.

He would check on her before he went down to the kitchen, he decided. That way, he could be sure that she was sleeping fine and he could get something to eat without worrying about her. The thought was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop it. He could almost laugh at his own neurosis. He would have, if it weren't for the fact that it masked something much deeper.

Closing the door behind him, he noticed the light on under Sam's door and pursed his lips. He knew what Sam was doing in there, and wanted to be mad about it. He could very well go in the room and tell him to give it a rest. He wouldn't, however, because if the roles were switched he'd be doing the same damn thing. Instead of confronting Sam, he walked on and silently wished his little brother luck.

He crossed the landing that connected the west wing of the house to the east wing and walked quietly down to the door he'd stood in earlier that night. He turned the handle as carefully as he could, grateful when the lock silently gave way. He opened the door and saw Erika's bare shoulders wrapped in blue blankets. Lacy curtains flew in the wind from the open balcony doors and he watched her body move slowly up and down in the pattern of deep sleep. She shivered a bit and he crossed the room as quietly as he could, closing the balcony doors to block her from the wind.

He watched her for just a moment before turning and walking quickly from the room, feeling completely ridiculous and unlike himself.

The kitchen was as deserted as he'd hoped, leaving him to dig through the leftovers from that night in peace. He opened the refrigerator door, chuckling at the ruthless organization he saw. Everything was neatly labeled, organized first by size and then by date. He would have never pegged her for someone with symptoms of obsessive compulsive disorder.

"What's so funny?"

Dean pulled his head from the refrigerator to find Erika wrapped in a white robe and staring at him. Her hair flew messily away from the sides of her face and her skin was flushed with sleep. Mouth suddenly dry, Dean swallowed. He wanted nothing more than to disappear under her gaze, but he forced himself to make eye contact.

"Your fridge," he answered, pointing. "It's a wreck."

She pushed him aside only to find that everything was in its place.

She smiled. "Very funny," she said. "It's just a habit. My kitchen is the only thing I freak out over."

"Ah," he said, and closed the door. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was," she said, sitting down at the table a few feet from her. "I'm a light sleeper. I woke up when you closed the doors."

"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it in more ways than one. He was certainly sorry for waking her, but was almost sorrier that he'd been caught.

"Shouldn't you be asleep, too?" she asked. "You look beat."

"How charitable of you," he said, allowing himself to smile. "I couldn't sleep."

"I figured," she said. "And of course Sam's still up."

"How did you know that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Coffee's still fresh," she said, pointing at the giant black pot on the counter. "And there's some left."

Dean laughed. "Good call. Yeah, he's up."

"My detective skills are endless," she said. "Here, come sit down. I'll whip something up real quick."

"You don't have to do that," Dean said. "Go back to bed. I can fend for myself."

"No, I want to," she said. "Cooking is kind of a stress reliever for me. It's calming."

He thought she needed it.

"Yeah, okay," he said. He stood by, watching her scan labels before taking out a few containers with handwriting different than hers. Dean recognized it immediately.

"Sam put away the food?"

"Looks like," she said. "It was sweet of him to indulge my compulsions. He wrote the date and everything."

"Huh," Dean said. "I kind of stranded him out here, so he probably did it out of boredom."

"I wondered why he wasn't with you when you came to drag me off," she said, a smirk turning up the corner of her mouth.

Dean laughed. "Is that what that was?"

"Seemed like," she said. She stopped rummaging through the food and looked at him. "I just don't know what to do about you."

He shifted his feet nervously. "What do you mean?"

"You confuse me," she said. "Surprise me, I guess would be a better word. I think you know what I mean," she said, noticing the way he squirmed under the weight of her stare. "I'm not going to press this if you're uncomfortable, but I want you to know that it's on my mind."

Mine too, he thought, but said nothing.

He watched as she went back to her task, hands moving competently with utensils and dishes until, a few minutes later, she sat a plate in front of him. He watched her pull a bottle out of the refrigerator and a wineglass from a cabinet.

"I'm having wine," she said. "Did you want some? It's a great year."

Dean considered. "No, I'm fine." He didn't much enjoy the taste of it. Never had, in his experience.

"Suit yourself," she said and poured herself a large glass. If she drank it fast enough, she'd be able to fall asleep in the next hour or so and not wake up for another eight.

This time, when little was said over their meal, the silence was less that comfortable. Both seemed to be deep in their thoughts, paying little or no attention to the other. When Erika stood to take their dishes to the sink Dean started, forgetting she was there. She noticed the reaction and hadn't the slightest idea what to think of it. She wondered if he was thinking the same things she was; if he doubted the same things she did. She had no way of knowing, so instead turned on the hot water and grabbed a sponge.

"Let me help," he said from behind her and she shook her head.

"No, really," she said. "I'll take care of the dishes. Go check on Sam."

"Sam's fine," he said, but his eyes flicked in the direction of the stairs. "He'll probably be down in a few seconds to get a caffeine fix, anyway."

Erika found herself laughing. "You're probably right."

"I usually am," he said, realizing that it was easy to bring a smile to his face again. "Here, I'll dry."

"You asked for it," she said, tossing a rag at him. "I usually have a strict policy against making guests clean up after themselves, you know."

"Why?"

"A good Southern hostess does no such thing," she said, grinning while she scrubbed at a plate.

"I won't tell if you won't tell Sam I did the dishes without a gun to my head," he replied and delighted in the sound of her laughter. "He'll start expecting things he has no right expecting."

"Deal," she said, handing him the plate she'd just rinsed. "Isn't this a bit domestic for you?"

Dean laughed. "Yeah, I guess so."

"And it doesn't bother you?" she asked, handing him another plate.

"Not right now," he answered, taking the dish from her hand. Their fingers brushed, touched for the barest of moments and her eyes shot instantly to his face. She refused to acknowledge the quick, violent tremble in the pit of her stomach but couldn't bring herself to turn away. Wouldn't. She faced him with resolution, waiting for him to be the first to turn away.

He didn't.

He leaned into her, tentatively pressing his lips against hers. Testing, at first, until the weight on his chest forced him to turn and take her into his arms. Never had a kiss ripped through him quite the same way, rapturous in its simplicity. His heart kicked in his chest when Erika pressed herself closer to him and his teeth tugged gently at her bottom lip, begging entrance. When her lips parted, he could have crumbled willingly at her feet.

His tongue lazily explored the taste of her, never quite sated. She was passion and energy solidified beneath his touch and when she moaned against his mouth, he felt his control begin to fray. Her hands grasped the front of his shirt and he felt a familiar heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. Knowing she would be his undoing, he forced himself to pull away from her.

"This is all I can give you," he whispered, his voice unintentionally rough. He watched confusion spread across her features, followed by what he feared was hurt.

"What are you talking about?"

"This," he said, taking her arms into his grasp. She eyed him warily, but looked ready to walk away any minute.

"A good time is all I can ever be to you," he said, knowing that it was more for him than it was for her. He was the one putting his sanity on the line. Before she could walk away, he continued. "You deserve more. And better."

Realization took the place of confusion on her face.

"Is that what this is about?" she said.

"It's the way it has to be," he said, wishing with fervor he hadn't known he still possessed that it wasn't true.

"You're a damn fool," she said, shaking her head at him. "I can make my own decisions."

"That's not what I mean," he said, frustrated. "I can't give you time."

His mind screamed, I don't have it to give.

Erika choked. "What?"

"I just can't," he said, wishing desperately that he had all the time in the world to offer her. "My life is… complicated."

Erika laughed because she could think of no other reaction. "Who said I wanted forever, Dean?" she said incredulously. "I don't plan that far into the future."

He understood her immediately. Who knew better than she that the future didn't always happen?

"I met you two days ago," she said. "And while I don't exactly understand what's happening, I don't want to dismiss this because you're leaving soon."

Surprise stole the easy answers he'd lined up, and he found himself telling the truth.

"I'm a different person around you," he confessed. "I don't know why, but I am."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

He scoffed. "Hell if I know," he said. "Ellen was right. I'm kind of a hound dog."

Erika laughed. "I kind of figured you were."

"I'm usually the type that sneaks out before morning," he said, sighing. "Not the kind that worries or checks on people in their sleep." He laughed. "Or does the damn dishes."

"Seems to me you're both," she said rationally, looking up at him. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm never this impulsive. I'm kind of a planner." She smiled. "But I didn't plan on you."

"That makes two of us," he said, pulling her closer. He kissed her quickly and stepped away, preparing to go back to his room and stare at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

"Where are you going?" Erika asked, following him out the kitchen. She'd forgotten all about the dishes.

"Bed," he said, starting up the stairs. "We're meeting with the asshole sheriff guy in the morning. You should get some sleep."

"Come with me," she said, effectively stopping Dean in his tracks. He turned slowly to face her. "Come with me," she repeated.

"I said get some sleep," he said.

"I heard you," she said. "And I will."

"Oh, honey," he laughed and fixed fatally green eyes on her. "Not if I go with you, you won't. Trust me."

Appreciating the color creeping into her cheeks, he smirked. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she heard herself murmur.

When he disappeared over the landing, her immediate thought was to follow him. She could sneak into his room and he wasn't likely to complain. She had climbed one step when Dean's voice called down to her.

"Don't even think about it," he said and left her smiling mischievously, like a child who'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

She climbed the stairs, but veered to the right and walked quietly back to her own bedroom, where the shut the door behind her and let out a giant, shuddering breath.

Sleep wasn't going to happen.