Chapter 9

At the sound of the bell, her stare drifted from her own bloodshot eyes, reflected back at her from the hallway mirror, to the door. Figuring it was the pizza delivery, she crossed the large foyer, picking up her purse on the way over to the front door. It creaked a little when she opened it and she made a mental note to fix that. The reminder was quickly forgotten at the sight of a breathless Garrett standing at her doorstep.

"What are you doing here?" She asked stunned.

"I think that's my line." He retorted, unable to hide the hint of irritation in his voice.

"Oh." Was her guilty comeback.

"What happened?"

"I-I remembered I'm on call tomorrow morning." She faltered at the lie. "I didn't have anyone to fill in for me. Sorry. But you didn't have to come all the way over here, you could have called." She argued.

"I did. But your phone's off." He grumbled.

"Oh... Still..."

"And you took my truck."

With her arguments completely throttled she gave him her best childlike 'oops' look and piped up:

"Right..."

Under the effect of her pout, any trace of annoyance in his demeanour vanished. Sometimes the boy's crush on her had its advantages.

Sluggishly, the cogs in her sleep-deprived brain began turning and eventually supplied her with another doubt.

"Wait, if I've got your truck, how'd you..." She trailed off as her gaze drifted over his shoulder.

She almost staggered back at the sight. Though her vision was blurred from hunger and exhaustion, the dark metallic shape partially hidden in the hues of the moonless night was instantly recognizable to her.

'Oh, god.'

He was here?

Her heart leaped to her throat, her hands began to shake and a thin sheen of sweat covered her palms.

'He's here.'

She coaxed herself to grab onto the threshold of the doorway when her knees threatened to buckle from under her. She couldn't.

'He's-Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god.'

The door on the driver's side started to open. Instinct for self preservation kicked into high gear and all she wanted was to slam the door on everything, rush up upstairs and disappear under the covers of her bed. Instead, she remained paralyzed, waiting...

"Sam gave me a ride."

Amy's eye snapped to Garrett and when they returned to the Impala, sure enough, there he was - Sam Winchester.

She wasn't sure if the pang she felt was out of relief or disappointment.

She watched him walk over and the measly forty yards seemed to drag on for an eternity under the scrutiny of his gaze. It never left her face, even as he took the porch steps in pairs.

He looked taller than she remembered and... bigger. The width of his shoulders contrasted strangely with the narrowness of his hips and legs, more so than it did before. When she finally gathered the courage to meet his stare she took in the changes in his features. He looked older, worn out. And it wasn't just because of the extra wrinkles marring his Sun kissed forehead or the two day old stubble he was sporting. She couldn't really suss out what it was, but she knew it was something in his eyes.

"Hello, Amy." His voice was uncharacteristically low.

Sam had always been the gloomier of the two Winchester boys, but his sadness had a soft, nostalgic trait to it. Now, it was different; darker and graver somehow, bearing the weight of experience that wasn't there before.

"Hi..." She pushed out weakly, after swallowing hard against a parched throat.

Garrett's eyes bounced back and forth between Amy and Sam. The tension was unmistakable and it became clear to him that their connection wasn't as flimsy as Amy had hinted.

There was definitely a history between them. A long one. And Garrett was willing to bet that it had played a major part in Amy's erratic behaviour over the last twenty four hours.

"Somebody order a pizza?"

All three jolted at the question and turned to find a red uniform wearing teen standing at the edge of the porch.

"Oh, yeah. I-I did." Amy hastily pushed past between the two hunters and with shaky hands managed to pay the boy and get her dinner. "Thanks."

On nervous, wobbly legs, she walked back inside inviting the newly arrived duo to follow her.

-------------------------

"Dean!"

His eyes snapped from the drink he was nursing to Bobby.

"You hear anything I said?"

"Um... sure... yeah..." Dean mumbled ineptly, dropping his gaze again.

"Look at me, boy."

Reluctantly, he did as he was told.

"You alright?" Bobby's concern was evident.

"I'm fine." He grumbled with a shrug.

"You sure? You've been kinda spaced out ever since you came back from... well, wherever you were." Bobby argued.

"I said I'm fine." Dean repeated a little more forcefully.

What Bobby heard, was a loud and clear - 'Drop it! I don't wanna talk about it.' So he didn't say a word, watching Dean swig back what was left of his whiskey before he got off the stool and stomped out of the bar.

"That boy is definitely not fine." Bobby threw at Ellen who had up until now remained silent, drying glasses behind the counter.

The two exchanged a knowing look; both wondering what was up with the young hunter, both failing to find an explanation for his mood.

He rubbed his eyes trying to stubbornly convince himself that the burden pressing down on his chest was just fatigue. He'd been on the road for the better half of the last three days, covering over twelve hundred miles in the process. Who wouldn't be tired?

His brain quickly provided him with an alternate justification for the constricting sensation, but it was one Dean wasn't ready to face yet. So he pushed the thought back and stared at the dark, gravelly path that lead to the roadhouse.

The small lamp perched on the framing of the porch was the only source of light and its dim glow was restricted to a three feet radius, leaving the surrounding area swallowed up by the night.

He ran his hand through his ruffled hair as the suffocating feeling refused to relent. If anything it grew. It knotted in his throat as the voice in his brain insisted on pushing the issue he so desperately tried to ignore.

Who the hell drives twelve hundred miles just to camp outside a girl's house?

The image of her door opening flashed in his mind's eyes and just as it had two days ago, his breath hitched at the powerful spasm in his gut.

Shielded by the dense shrubbery, he'd sat in the car and just watched her... Sitting on those steps, her black clad silhouette looked so small and fragile, framed by the massive white columns of her mansion. He'd closed his eyes, fighting the urge to storm out of the car and march up to her. It was always there. Every single time he'd secretly come to check on her. He thought that over time, it would fade; this insane impulse to just throw caution to the wind and just... It never did.

Standing outside the roadhouse, he now wondered what the hell had possessed him to do it? Why did he have to go back there now? Four months! Four freaking months of staying away from her and he had to ruin it all at the first sign of trouble. Yes, hunters were being targeted, but she wasn't one, and she'd stayed clear of anything related to hunting for the last year. She was safe! He didn't have to check on her. He didn't have to drive twelve hundred miles, back and forth, just to dig up old feelings. Feelings which were best left undisturbed. Why did he have to open up that wound? He'd promised himself, four months ago, that it would be the last time. Why? For God's sake why did he have to-

'Stupid, dim-witted, idiot-'

He punctuated his mental swearing with a single blow to the blameless porch frame he'd been leaning into. The blood began trickling from his knuckles the second his frustrated fist connected with the hard wood and he took solace in the painful sting, as it momentarily overshadowed the throbbing in his chest.

Relief was short lived though. In a few seconds, the soreness in his hand faded and he was left with just the choking sensation.

He had to get rid of this. He needed to find a way to just forget he'd ever made the monumental mistake of going to Griffin. All day long he'd tried everything. He'd buried himself in his work, checking the computer every couple of minutes for news, scouring books and everything he could get his hands on just to keep himself busy.

When that didn't work, he resorted to the time old tradition of getting shitfaced. Ellen, however, had wrecked that little plan after he'd guzzled down an entire bottle of whiskey.

Although he was closer to drunk than sober, it still didn't seem enough.

It was still there and it stung like hell.

Distant headlights caught his attention and he recognized the blue 69 Road Runner as it drew closer.

That was exactly what he needed. She would make him forget.

Research didn't work, alcohol had failed too. Sex had to do the trick.

A smirk took over Reggie's lips at the sight of him standing at the front porch.

With ease, she turned the wheel and parked the car alongside Bobby's truck, trapping the banged up Ford between her Plymouth and the roadhouse.

"You're back." She made use of her sultry tone, slamming the car door shut.

He didn't utter a single word, simply trudged straight at her. Her brow furrowed at the intense look on his face as he quickly closed in on her. Never stopping, he charged at her. His right hand locked under her ear, hauling her in for a bruising kiss, while his body pushed forward, causing her to stagger back.

She lost her balance as the back of her legs connected with cold metal and toppled onto the blue hood. He didn't give her a chance to recover and her stunned brain had difficulty assimilating the details of his fast and erratic assault on her. Impatient lips and teeth licked and bit at her mouth, making it nearly impossible for her to draw in air. She was only aware that the fastening of her jeans was undone, when she felt callous fingers half hazardously shoving themselves between her skin and the cotton of her underwear.

She tore her mouth away from him for a desperate gasp at the feel of his hand between her legs.

When she was finally able to focus her eyes, she looked down to find her shirt had been ripped open and Dean's face was currently buried in her chest.

The hand that had been holding her face up to his was now busy pushing the cup of her bra out of the way. He palmed her left breast gruffly, bringing it to his keen mouth and angrily lapped and sucked, going so far as to sink his teeth into the tender skin. She let out a whimpered grunt at the soreness and he responded by driving a single finger into her. The unexpected rush of pleasure caused her to jolt up and he continued worrying the dark pebble of flesh with his lips.

Dean had never been the cuddling type; the few times in which she sensed any tenderness during their little trysts were fleeting at best. Their encounters were usually frenzied and marked with lust and passion. But tonight, his behaviour was more than ravenous. It was urgent, bordering on desperation. All she could do was hold on.

One palm flat on the hood, the other clinging onto his hair, she mewled at the added pressure of a second finger pushing inside her. His frantic need was contagious and she was now restlessly bucking her hips into his hands.

Tired of struggling with the constrictions of her bra, he brusquely pulled at the white fabric until one of the straps snapped, freeing her breast. With free access Dean squeezed the soft mound, trailing open-mouth kisses over her crimson tinted skin, leaving angry red marks in his tracks. But Reggie didn't seem to care; she was too wrapped up in the busy fingers labouring between her thighs. She nearly wept when, all off a sudden, that skilful touch vanished. Reggie hadn't yet fully recovered from the loss and he was already impatiently pulling at her jeans, tugging them down.

Why did women have to wear such stupidly tight clothes, anyway?

Eventually, the denim ended up bunched around her ankles.

Gripping her waist, with one sharp yank he lugged her closer, positioning himself between her awkwardly bent legs.

For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. Burrowing his face into the nape of her neck, he slipped inside her and she bit into his shoulder to keep from crying out.

Though partially concealed by Bobby's truck and safely veiled from probing eyes by the shadows, they were still relatively within earshot.

His hips surged and he desperately clung to her. But still that smothering sting refused to yield. It just wouldn't go away. He just wanted it to go away, damn it!

In his frustration, his movements became more aggressive. Urgently, he thrust back and forth, grimacing into her neck in an absurd combination of pleasure and anger; anger at himself for being unable to get that infuriating, stubborn, god damn woman out of his head, anger at her for haunting him this way.

Nails digging into his back and warm, drenched muscles fluttering around his hard length yanked him back to reality in time to hear Reggie moan her release against his shoulder. Soon after and almost automatically, he followed suit. Their combined pants melded with the chirping of crickets as the two fell limply against the hood of the muscle car.

Worn out and physically exhausted, he seemed to have finally achieved a semblance of serenity. And, for an instant, all he could feel was the burden of his own body as he slanted towards Reggie. But that was all he got for his effort - an instant. By the second intake of breath, the moonlit image of her sitting on her front porch, bracing herself against the fresh Summer breeze, came rushing back to him, bringing with it the suffocating feeling he'd so desperately tried to erase.

Author's note:

I know most of you are probably pissed and angry at Dean's reaction and before you go all postal on the reviews or decide to quit reading this fic just bear in mind a couple of things.

Though, I myself, am not happy with Dean boinking Reggie, I still believe that this is the screwed up way he would find to deal with the emotional turmoil he's going through.

In his heart, he wants to keep Amy safe from his world and all the dangers that come with it (for crying out loud! the woman almost died because of him. Ok, not because of him exactly, but because of their connection.). And you know Dean; he'll do anything, anything! to protect the ones he loves. He'll die for them, he'll sell his soul and yes, he'll even give them up, like he did with Amy.

Problem is that when you die or sell your soul and end up in hell the situation is pretty much solved. With Amy... well, it's different, he has to make the effort, every day to stay away from her. Every single day! And he was actually doing a relatively well; he thought he'd moved on. Sure it still stung, but he was dealing with it.

Going down to Griffin and seeing her again just screwed everything up. Now he has to start over from scratch. What had dimmed down to a sting is now an open wound that hurts like hell. He knows that the only way to make it go away is to see her and tell her the truth, but if he wants her safe... he can't do that.

So what does he do? In typical Dean fashion he moronically turns to meaningless physical connections. Because in his head, he's never gonna be with Amy, ever again! So what? He's supposed to remain perfectly celibate for the rest of his life? No! He's gonna lie to himself, he's gonna screw every single woman he comes across either in a pathetic attempt to convince himself that he's over her or just to feel something other than the pain.

Well, that's pretty much the way I see it.

I hope that helps you deal with this chapter and hope you keep reading and enjoying this fic.

Kudos.