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The pounding on Brooke's door disrupted her and she looked up from her sketch. With a sigh, she got up and headed towards the door as the knocking got louder. Excepting Dean, she threw the door open, her arms crossed. "What?"

Sam looked down at her with a furrowed eyebrow. "Did I come at a wrong time..?"

Brooke shook her head. "No, sorry. I just thought it-"

"Was Dean?" Sam finished for her and shook his head. "But.. it kinda involves him. Can I come in?"

Nodding, Brooke stepped aside to let him and shut the door behind him. She watched him as he paced for a few moments, worrying on his lip as he thought before turning to her.

"Brooke..." he drew out, sighing, "I need to ask you something important... and I need a truthful answer... did you make a deal to keep your dad alive?"

The words were enough to knock the brunette over in shock; like a tidal wive. But thankfully, she kept her balance. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him and stuttered out an answer. "Uh... I... yeah... I did."

Sam looked her straight in the eye. "Did it have something to do with our dad's death...?"

Tears came to Brooke's eyes as she looked down and swallowed the lump in her throat. Her heart was racing and she felt her palms get sweaty. She didn't want to relive this again; like she had for the past few weeks. She didn't want Sam to think of her as a bad person, a liar.

But he would.

Brooke took a breath; a long, deep one, and nodded sadly. "Y-yeah.."

"Why...?"

His tone made Brooke's heart break even more and she stumbled for words before she silently sighed and lifted up the hem of her shirt, turning around. She felt Sam's eyes travel to where she had pointed her finger; a long, faded bruise went from one hip to a little under her bra clasp. It was only visible if someone looked closely; and, if it wasn't covered in make-up.

"Brooke..." Sam whispered, searching her faces as she turned back around. He saw the tears starting to fall and he enveloped her in his arms, letting her cry on his shoulder.


His hands were tightly gripped on the steering wheel; knuckles ghostly white, his eyes focused solemnly on the road. Thoughts ran through his mind over and over like a shitty black-and-white film that never stopped.

With a masked, emotionless face, Dean swerved right on the road and put his album on full blast. Usually, he'd start to goof; alone or with Sam. He'd dance and sing foolishly, no matter his mood.

But, right now?

He didn't want to.

Dean was too focused on his task. He had a plan. And he needed to stick to it.

For once, he came to terms with his feelings.

And agreed.


Brooke blew lightly on her coffee as she sat across from Sam, the tears on her cheeks drying up. They had talked for the last two hours and both cried a little. Brooke told him everything - her family issues, how long the abuse had been going on, how long her mother had started drinking heavily, and why she made the deal, and why she hated herself for it.

Sam had reassured her it was okay; he didn't like the part that she had to lie to him about it, but he understood. Still, Brooke couldn't help but have the worrying feeling tug at the pit of her stomach.

The feeling that told her, You betrayed them. Dean hates you. Dean will never forgive you.

She sighed and looked back up at Sam. "Thank you, Sammy."

Sam gave her a small smile and rubbed her arm comfortingly. "No thanks needed. Have you told Dean any of this?"

"No..." Brooke murmured, drawing her eyes back to her coffee as she took a sip.

"It'd make it a whole lot easier between you two if you did. He may not fully forgive you; but he'd understand."

Brooke glanced at him and shrugged. "See, that's the point. He'll never forgive me. In years, he may say he does, but he won't. Ever."

Taking her hand with a sigh, Sam tipped her head up with his other hand. "Brooke, you need to stop doing this to yourself. It's not healthy. Dean... Dean, well, he's complicated. He's never loved a girl before; and I guess, when you guys were close friends... you making the deal just made his trusting issues worse. But that's not your fault. Dean always finds a reason to build his walls up even further. Brooke, trust me with this... he cares about you... a lot."

"You really think so?" Brooke asked quietly, sniffling back tears as she met his gaze.

Sam smiled. "Yeah, I do. I really do."


The Impala pulled up in the gravel and Dean switched off the music with a sigh. He drug a hand over his face as he re-thought over his plan...

Why was he doing this?

With no further thoughts, Dean climbed out of the car and started to walk towards the building, hands shoved in his pockets. His lips were drew in a thin line as he pulled out his wallet, rummaging for the money he had saved over the few months. As he slid the bills into his fingers, Dean knew he was doing this.

There was no turning back. His mind was set. His decision was final.

The crisp feeling of the money between his calloused fingers calmed him in an odd way as he walked through the doors. His nerves started to ease slowly and he took a breath.

"Two tickets, please."


Sam had left after another thirty minutes and Brooke was left alone again. A huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders after she had spilled all her feelings to him; even confessing one thing she couldn't admit to herself.

That she truly loved Dean Winchester.

It was crazy; it was.

But she did.

She wanted him. Brooke wanted to be the one to comfort Dean when he was feeling upset; to hold his hand when one of them needed reassurance. To kiss him to calm his nerves and to reward him on a job well done.

She wanted it all.

Lost in thought, Brooke headed towards the kitchen for a glass of water to ease the sharp pain in her throat.

"Brooke! Open up!"

The voice made Brooke freeze and it took her a while to slowly stand up, blinking in shock as she opened the door.

Dean stood in front of her and she saw worry and fear and insecurity in his eyes. She saw the way he was holding something back as he stared down at her. Dean took a long, steady breath and stood there for a few moments, just standing quiet and still. He suddenly reached out and took one of her hands, grasping it tightly; but not enough to hurt her.

His touch was gentle.

Soft.

Caring.

"Brooke... I love you..."