A/N: My apologies for the long hiatus on this one. I've been working out how I wanted this part to go! I hope you enjoy and will keep reading! I think I've gotten past my dilemma, so hopefully more chapters will flow forth... :)
Special thanks to TLOGirl for her beta skills, support and general cheerleading! She's got a couple of great stories posted, so go give her a shout.
Lastly, reviews are love and really do keep me going! Even if it's just a "Great story!" it really helps!
Chapter 10 - Only the Lonely
Sophia swipes at her eyes one last time and glances in the rear view mirror, grimacing as she catches a glimpse of her face. She looks like hell; eyes red and swollen, cheeks tear streaked and a rosy nose.
She closes her eyes briefly and shrugs, swinging the car door open and stepping out into the crisp morning air. A few short steps has her in the Starbucks and she takes a deep breath, finding some kind of comfort in the familiar scents of coffee, chocolate, caramel and vanilla.
Picking up her coffee, she settles at a table near the window, cradling the warm cup in her hands. She rests her phone next to her, noting the time. If there's going to be a call, it should be coming any minute now. She dreads both the idea of it ringing and the idea of it not ringing.
Taking a sip of her coffee, she savors the heat as it slides through her. She's been freezing ever since she got into her car this morning and drove off into the predawn darkness alone. She wonders if she'll ever get warm again. If she'll ever feel like she did when she was curled in Dean Winchester's arms.
Remembering the previous night, the hours they spent holding each other, raises the tears again. Sophia shakes her head, trying to will them away. This was the right decision. There's no way she could have simply watched him pack up and drive away. No way she could bear to hear "great night, honey, we'll have to do it again sometime."
She swipes at her eyes, gritting her teeth against the pain before taking another long swallow of the hot drink. It burns going down this time and she welcomes the distraction. Yeah, she'd made a terrible mistake falling for Dean. She'd known what he was going in and she'd still lost her heart along with her panties.
Another glance at the clock tells the tale. There's not going to be a call. She was ridiculous to think there would be. To think there'd be some panicked, romantic phone call, begging her to come back. She shakes her head. Clearly she's seen one too many chick flicks. And the tender way he'd touched her had fooled her, briefly, into thinking-even hoping-there was something more than there was. But now she knows.
Sophia takes the last swallow of coffee and crushes the cup in her hand. Straightening her back, she strides purposefully out of the store and back to the car. She's going to get through this. She's going to forget she ever lost her heart.
~~~SPN~~~
Rolling onto his back, Dean's eyes flutter open slowly, blinking against the light shining through the motel room curtains. The previous night comes back to him in a rush and slow smile crosses his face. He breathes in slowly, catching just a hint of her soft citrus scent. Reaching out, he expects to feel the warm, soft body of the woman he'd spent so many hours exploring.
Only to find the bed empty. Cold.
He sits up quickly, eyes scanning the room. Her bag is gone. Clothes are gone. The only thing remaining in the room are his own clothes, scattered on the floor. The only real sign he hadn't simply imagined the prior night.
A quick stroke of pain squeezes his heart, but he sucks in a deep breath and pushes it away. Any stupid thoughts he'd had of making a go of things with her disintegrate into dust. It's not like he's got anything to offer a woman anyway. He wipes a hand over his face. He'd hoped maybe because she was a hunter already, she'd understand. But apparently she was too much like all the other hunters he knows. Too much like him.
His face hardening into an expressionless mask, he climbs from the bed and pulls on his clothes before grabbing his jacket and walking down to the room he shares with Sam.
Not particularly wanting to see his brother or answer any of his questions, he swings the room door open anyway. He's got to get out of here. Get away from this damn city and away from thoughts of her. He's always been good at compartmentalizing and denying his feelings and he's drawing on every bit of that skill right now.
Sam looks up in surprise as Dean barrels into the room and heads for his duffel bag. "Dean? What are you doing here? I thought you were off limits until noon."
"We're going," Dean growls, stuffing his things into his bag as fast as possible. "Get your stuff."
Sam's eyes widen, and he doesn't get up from the table where he's been surfing for their next case. "What? What about Sophia?" He sees his brother's jaw tighten at the mention of her name and wonders what the hell happened between them.
Walking toward the bathroom for his shaving kit, Dean mumbles, "She's gone. Now get packing."
Sam starts to protest, but the stiff set of Dean's shoulders as he disappears into the bathroom stops him. For now. He gathers up his laptop and throws his own clothes in his bag. As Dean walks back in the room, Sam tries again. "So she's gone and we're not going after her?"
Dean drags in a breath before snatching open the room door and heading outside. He doesn't answer that one. He can't. Tracking her down was his first instinct. But obviously she doesn't want to be with him or she wouldn't have snuck away like some kind of thief. And if she doesn't want him, he's not gonna beg. Not Dean Winchester.
Sam watches his brother leave the room, sees the pain flash briefly across Dean's closed expression. A determined look appears on the younger Winchester's face. He's not sure why Sophia's gone, but he's damn sure he's going to find out. The two of them might be stubborn as hell, and can't see what's staring them right in the face, but he knows they were made for each other.
He just has to find a way to make them realize it.
~~~SPN~~~~
Sophia tosses aside the old book, rubbing her eyes with her hands. She's so tired, but sleep is impossible. She'd only left Dean the night before last but she hasn't slept since. God, she misses him. She had no idea it would be this bad. Closing her eyes, she leans her head back against the wall with a sigh.
The phone on the table beside her chirps a text message. She opens her eyes, frowning. She doesn't get much in the way of communication from anyone. Picking up the phone, she cringes when she see the name on the screen.
Sam.
She considers simply deleting the message, but even after only knowing him a week, she knows he won't give up that easily. With another sigh, she opens the message.
What the hell?
She snorts. Simple and to the point. She types back: Don't start, Sam. You, of all people, should know why I left.
I can think of a lot of reasons, but all of them are BS.
Whatever. I did what I had to do. Watching him leave wasn't...an option.
There's a long pause before his next message. Wow, do you have *that* all wrong. And I thought you were the smart one.
Sophia blinks at the screen. What the hell is he talking about?
Another pause. You should talk to him. He might surprise you.
Something bubbles up inside her, but she swallows it down. No. It was one night and that's all it would ever be.
Not happening. Besides, he knows my number too.
She can almost see his eyes rolling as he responds. You two are the most stubborn idiots I've ever met. You both think you know everything.
Yeah, well, you're the most meddling little brother I never wanted.
A really long pause. Sophia starts to think she's hurt his feelings. She reaches to type an apology, but the phone vibrates in her hands as a new message comes in.
We'll see.
She pings back with a quick question mark but he doesn't say anything else. Sophia huffs a frustrated breath and tosses the phone back on the table. Damn it. Talking to Sam doesn't do anything to make her feel better, instead, she feels worse.
What if she was wrong? What if her other instinct had been correct? The one that said those tender caresses and the way he worshiped her body meant something more than a one night stand?
~~~SPN~~~
It's been nearly two weeks since... Dean can't really bring himself to complete the thought, instead taking another drag of whiskey straight from the bottle. It's been nearly two weeks and he still can't even think her name without his stomach churning. It's been nearly two weeks and he's still counting the days since he saw her last.
He grimaces, his fingers tightening around the whiskey bottle. He has to stop himself from hurling it across the room as he wonders if the sound of shattering glass will do anything to silence the voice in his head telling him to go get her. He's tried everything else to get rid of the damn thing. Drinking, sleeping, surfing the internet. Hell, he'd even chatted up some pretty blonde in a bar, but gave that up after finding he couldn't even bring himself to touch her.
"Fuck," he growls, raising the bottle, ready to smash it against the nearest wall, not restraining himself this time.
But before he can act, Sam comes in, waving a newspaper. "Got us a new case," he says, dropping the paper on the table in front of Dean.
Dean doesn't even glance at it. He jumps up from the table and starts to pack his bag. "Thank God. You can tell me where we're going when we get in the car."
He moves away so quickly, he doesn't see the sly grin cross Sam's face.
~~~SPN~~~
Dean opens and slams yet another door. "Does this place really need this many freakin' closets?" he growls to himself.
He's been wandering through this ancient wreck of a house for the last thirty minutes. Sam had dropped him off and headed back to town, saying something about needing to get some research done before the historical society closed. "I don't even know what the hell I'm looking for."
Another door, another empty closet. Nothing but dust and dirt and rotting furniture. He grumbles again, stalking into what apparently used to be some body's bedroom.
He's about to shut the last drawer of a rickety dresser when he hears the unmistakable sound of a round being jacked into a shotgun. He freezes for just a moment, then raises his hands over his head. "Hang on," he says, trying a conciliatory tone with whoever's got a shotgun pointed in his direction, "I'm not looking for any trouble..."
There's a long pause and then he hears the last voice he ever would have expected.
"Dean? What the hell are you doing here?"