Disclaimer: I own none of the characters you recognize nor any of the poetry featured in this story.
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Everything You Want
Written by Becks Rylynn
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Chapter Ten
sing a song about the room we're in
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''We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven,
which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and a gentleness that comes,
not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.''
- snow and dirty rain
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Her carved-up-like-a-friggin-pumpkin-at-Halloween flesh is not the only thing sore and tender that itches painfully tonight. Her ego has also taken a brutal beating. That part happened when she found herself on top of a taken man just because she wanted it.
The moral compass Ruby relies on so damn much is MIA. Her heart seems to be doing all the ruling as of late. That's not a safe way to live. That's a human way to live. There is a big difference between remembering what it's like to be human and actually wanting to be human. She's long past that stage of her existence. Humans are weak. Humans leave their hearts in other people's hands. And that hurts. She doesn't want that. Her heart is not an orchard of wildflowers and strange fruit. Her heart is far too damaged for anyone else to hold. She wants to hold her own heart. She will always hold her own heart. That's just the way it has to be.
No matter how lonely it gets.
She decides she doesn't want to think about it.
There is snow on the ground and the sky is dark by the time she gets home. She'd like nothing more than to curl up in bed and watch a terrible no-good movie. With her luck, she'll go upstairs and find Crowley in her apartment waiting to torture her. Or better yet, she'll go up there and find Samuel freaking Campbell. With a flamethrower. Waiting to set her on fire. It's not fair. Home is where you're supposed to feel safe.
She digs out her keys, but can't quite bring herself to open the door. She wants a nice warm bed, but she doesn't want to be alone. She doesn't want her dingy apartment given to her by an overcompensating demonic bastard. Her apartment has cockroaches and an annoyingly low supply of hot water and neighbors who like to fuck obnoxiously loud. She doesn't want that. She wants a warm, inviting, welcoming house and she wants to share it with someone who cares about her and makes her laugh. She wants what everyone wants. She heaves a sigh and slumps against the door, jingling her keys in her hand. Her eyes flutter shut and she runs a hand over her tired face.
As it turns out, when you're not supposed to be thinking of someone, they're all you can think about.
Lisa Braeden is perfect for Dean. She is seriously the perfect match for him. She's a good girl, so she can tame the bad boy. She can give him the family he has been craving for years. She'll let Dean save her if she ever needs saving, which apparently is one of those weird things that gets him off for some reason. And most of all, she is not one of the things he had been taught to fight against.
John Winchester was a great hunter. A legend among demons and hunters alike. That much Ruby knows from the stories she has heard. He was a great hunter; took down scores of supernatural creatures in the name of revenge. He was not, however, a good father. Nor was he particularly a good man. He raised those boys to believe in black and white and traumatized them so badly that they still have scars years later. He raised them to be ignorant because he was ignorant himself. She wonders what the all mighty John Winchester could say if she let it slip that one of his closest contacts from back in the day is a demon. Actually, scratch that. She wonders what he would say if he knew about her.
She pushes off the door with a puff of air, breath hanging in the frigid night air. No. She will not think about these things. She is fumbling with her keys when she senses it. Him. Her heart rate speeds up and she whirls around just in time for a bus to pass by. When it's gone, she catches sight of him. She didn't sense him because she's a demon. She sensed him because he's family. Family is something that means everything in this harsh, uncontrolled world.
Josef is sitting on a bench, arm splayed out over the back of the bench, head tilted back as he looks up at the sky. Ruby's breath catches and guilt pools in her stomach, twisting and knotting painfully. There are flashes of Adele racing through her head, happy and alive, and then lifeless and bloody. A cry of his name bubbles up in her throat like bile. She chokes it down and puts her keys away. A freezing cold breeze hits her like a slap in the face and she snaps out of it. Drawing in a deep breath, she crosses the street and works over the words she wants to say when she reaches him.
She doesn't end up saying any of them.
He looks up when she steps onto the curb and when he locks eyes with her, she can't say a thing. Slowly, she takes a seat next to him. Neither of them say a word. She watches Mrs. Hendricks and her nasty little dog scuttle into the building.
He's the one who winds up speaking first, clearing his throat before he talks. ''Ten years.'' His voice is hoarse and raw and she can't help but notice the way he toys with his wedding ring as if he's petrified it will fall off. A lump grows in her throat. ''Addie and I... We were married for ten years. Ten years next Wednesday actually. The tenth anniversary is tin. I didn't know what to get her. We were only together for four weeks before we got married. Did I ever tell you that story?'' He tears his eyes away from the building across the street and looks at her with a small smile that doesn't even begin to reach his hollow eyes.
She is struck with the strong feeling that she isn't supposed to talk so she shakes her head instead.
''She was in college and I was working at her campus library, if you can believe that, and when I saw her... That was it. I just knew. I knew she was it for me. We dated for four weeks and then one night I decided to tell her - show her - what I really am. She interrupted me - She was always interrupting me. She loved to talk. She interrupted me before I could tell her and she told me that she was a demon, but she didn't want me to be afraid of her because she loved me. And then I told her about me and we got married.'' He smiles fondly, staring off into space like he's watching an old memory of Adele play out in front of her. ''The first year was the hardest. We were still getting to know each other and suddenly we had to learn to deal with the little quirks that drove us crazy. But we did. We did learn to deal with those things because - because we were meant to be. Adele... That kind of thing only happens once. I learned to deal with the fact that she would ramble on and on endlessly about the 40's and 50's. She learned to deal with my issues with historical inaccuracies in movies. Like that one movie with that guy from Brokeback Mountain where he's a knight or whatever? What the fuck was that? Have you noticed that our time is portrayed incredibly unrealistically in media? I find that offensive.''
She smiles dimly, looking down at the snow on the ground.
''But we both learned to live with these things,'' Josef continues quietly. ''Because marriage is about compromise and when it's right, the good always outweighs the bad. She had so much good in her. She had one of the biggest hearts I had ever known. She was the sweetest person I knew, but she had a mouth like a sailor and when it came down to the people she cared about, she'd fight tooth and nail for them. She loved to read. She'd say her favourite books were the classics but really she devoured those trashy romance novels like nobody's business. She hated wearing makeup and high heels and she would constantly say that she wasn't a girly girl but all she ever wore were dresses. She watched cop shows so she could guess who the bad guy was and she was always, always wrong. She could sing. Man, could she ever sing. Sinatra, Billie Holliday, Led Zeppelin, the Spice Girls and Lady Gaga. Those were her favourites. She had a very eclectic taste in music.'' He lets out a little laugh that doesn't really sound like a laugh.
Her vision is blurred and she can barely see. Her hands tremble with guilt.
''And she was beautiful.'' He beams at that thought, smiling so widely it reaches his eyes. He has always had a very nice smile. Even that is somehow devastating tonight. ''She was so beautiful. At night, she'd put her hair up and put her glasses on and she'd be in sweats with her nose in one of those stupid books and she'd still be the prettiest girl in the world to me.''
Ruby lifts her eyes to the sky with tears on her eyelashes and an agonizing pain in her chest. She almost feels like a child again, being scolded by her hard-eyed and positively wretched mother for any little wrongdoing. But this is something far more serious than daydreaming out in the dirt instead of doing the washing. This is Adele they're talking about. The woman who accepted Ruby into her life with open arms the second she got out of Hell just because she was Josef's niece. The woman she got killed. She wonders why Josef hasn't thrown a punch yet. Yelled, screamed, called her out on it. Something. Ruby would have. It would almost make her feel better to be yelled at right now.
''She was going to go to the grocery store.'' His voice hardens. She holds her breath. ''She was going to go to the grocery store and she didn't finish the book she was reading and I was going to make her a mother when all of this was over because she used to tell me that was what she was meant to be. But she never got a chance to do any of those things. And now she's - All that's left is a pile of ashes and her wedding ring and I cannot - I will not lose you, too.'' He startles her when he jolts toward her and grabs her wrists, shaking her roughly, sad eyes turning cold and black. ''So you better tell me now, Ruby. You better tell me everything. You better tell me what kind of mess you're in here. Start. Talking.''
She draws in a few shuddering gulps of air and reluctantly meets his eyes. ''Josef,'' she whispers. ''I think you'd better come inside.''
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Josef is sitting grim faced and still as a statue at her kitchen table and she's trying not to cry again. She is so sick of trying not to cry. She remembers a time - it wasn't that long ago. It feels like it wasn't that long ago - where she never cried at all. She used to avoid it like the plague. (No pun intended.) She wishes she could give Josef more. More than a meaningless apology and a promise of vengeance as soon as she gets things sorted out.
''So that's it?'' He asks gruffly, crossing his arms. ''I can't kill him? I can't avenge my wife until you get your fucking ducks in a row?''
''Not yet,'' she begs. ''Please not yet, Joe. Not until I fix what he's done to me. Not until I'm sure he won't take Dean and Sam away. I can't let... Not them. I need them.''
At that, he wrinkles his nose in obvious displeasure and says, with a noticeable twinge of disgust, ''Really?''
She gives him a thin lipped smile and doesn't answer.
He shakes his head at her and sighs. ''You're stronger than this, doll.''
She smiles wryly. ''Don't be so sure about that.''
He eyes her carefully. ''Don't be a martyr. That's not who you are.''
''Really? Let's backtrack, shall we? I think all I've ever been is a martyr.''
''Ruby.''
''Josef.''
He holds his hands up in surrender while she rubs her temples. ''All right, fine. I won't do anything until you give me the go ahead,'' he promises. ''But the second you do, that bastard is going down. And I'm gonna make it hurt. Got it?''
She forces a smirk. ''Loud and clear.'' She looks down at the scuffed, wobbly table and wrings her hands nervously. Great. Just great. As if Crowley hasn't taken enough from her, he has to take away her relationship with the only family she has left too? She's certain Josef will never look at her the same again and she can't even figure out what to say to him anymore. ''So,'' she finally mumbles, looking up at him slowly. ''Historical inaccuracies, huh?''
He blinks at her, stares and then a slow smirk starts on his lips. ''They bother me.''
''You're such a nitpicker,'' she mutters with a smile.
He leans forwards to gape at her. ''You honestly don't find it annoying? I mean, aesthetics alone! People in medieval times were not that attractive. We were unwashed, unhygienic, hairy motherfuckers.''
''Hey.''
''Except you.''
''Thank you.''
''And the 13th and 14th centuries were not romantic. I hate that movies make them out to be romantic. You know what bugs me? Game of Thrones bugs me.''
''...I don't think Game of Thrones is what you think it is. Have you ever even seen a full episode?''
''No, because it bugs me.''
She laughs. ''Josef, you're a smart guy. Shouldn't you know that obviously none of the writers or directors are going to get it right? None of them are that old.''
''That's not true,'' he points a finger at her, lounging back in his seat with a triumphant smirk. ''I have it on good authority that Steven Spielberg is one of us. Also, I think Betty White.''
''Really?''
He shrugs. ''The woman's gotta be something.''
''Cool.''
A small laugh falls from his lips and she breathes in a nice, deep breath. It's oddly comforting to hear him laugh. They sit in silence for a moment until the lightness fades, replaced by vicious awkwardness. She's not looking at him, but he's looking at her. He's studying her so intently it's like he's searching for a flaw in the way she's breathing. It's unnerving. ''You're thinking about something,'' he drawls.
''No, I'm not,'' she denies quickly, crossing her arms over her chest in order to hide her heart. ''I'm not thinking at all.''
''Yes, you are. You've got that pensive face of yours on.''
''I don't know what you're - ''
''You want to ask me something,'' he cuts in smoothly, narrowing his eyes as he stares her down. ''You want to ask me something but you're afraid of what the answer will be.'' In reply, she huffs and shoots him a small, irritated frown. She keeps her mouth shut, twisting her lips into a judgmental scowl and tilting her head to the left. ''And now you're trying to intimidate me,'' he chuckles. ''Sorry, doll. You're going to have to try a bit harder with me. You may be a badass demon chick now but to me you're still that little girl who used to chase fireflies with my daughter. Therefore, not intimidating.'' He drums his fingers on the table, beating out a rhythm she can't distinguish. Then he shrugs and carelessly slouches down in his chair. ''Go ahead. Ask me.''
It's not that simple. It's never been that simple. Simplicity has never been part of her life. ''How did you know?'' She asks at last. Clearing her throat, she lifts her head and locks eyes with him. He stiffens and seems to realize exactly what she's asking him. ''How did you know Adele was it for you?'' She elaborates. ''Was that - Was it a demon thing?''
He looks at his wedding ring, a move that does not go unnoticed by her and she immediately wants to take it all back. ''No,'' he says firmly before she has a chance to retract her nosy question. ''No, that was a human thing.'' Absently twisting his ring, he looks at her with a lazy smirk as if he knows all of her secrets. ''You know, we may not technically be blood related anymore,'' he says conversationally. ''Different bodies and all. But our souls are still linked to one another. We're still family. That sense of knowing when you find your it? That's all in the family. You'll know, too. One day, you'll look at someone and you'll just know. There are no explanations. No rhyme or reason. Not when it comes to this. One day, things will fit like a puzzle you've been waiting to complete and you'll know. I guess the only question is… Do you already know?'' Looking downright smug and jovial, he leans his elbows on the table and grins at her. ''Tell me, have you found your other half yet?''
Her gaze drifts away from him nervously.
He hums thoughtfully under his breath. ''Uh-huh. It's him, isn't it?'' He asks lowly. ''That hunter boy. It's him.''
Well, let's see. The place where her heart should be is nothing more than a gaping empty cavity that aches horribly because Dean Winchester ripped her still beating heart out with his bare hands like it was some sort of sick bloody valentine, and it's getting so hard for her to breathe these days. Is that the sense of knowing Josef is talking about? Because if so, it hurts quite a bit.
Ruby decides that the safest course of action right now would be to change the subject. ''Hey,'' she says, standing and offering him her hand. ''There's a dirty little bar down the street. Wanna go get drunk?''
He scoffs, appears to vehemently disagree with her offer in an attempt to remain a mature adult who doesn't partake in such childishness. But then he shows that yes, he really is related to her when he shrugs and stands so fast that his chair nearly topples right over. '' 'Kay.''
Yep. Sometimes it's so easy to tell they're related.
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The cold weather is unforgiving, and when Dean gets home to spend the weekend with Lisa and Ben all he can think about is, spoken like a true big brother, if Sam is remembering to stay warm. What with the brand new psychological issues and all, Dean isn't sure if remembering to wear layers is on the top of Sam's priority list. He's kind of thinking Sam's number one priority is to forget.
His numb fingers fumble clumsily with the keys, his breath hangs in the air and he seriously feels like he could have frostbite or something. He staggers inside, grumbling under his breath about the cold and rubbing his hands together. It takes longer than it should for the music to reach him because at first he thinks it's in his head or something. It's loud. It shakes the picture of Dean, Lisa and Ben on the table in the foyer. It's coming from upstairs.
Ben.
Oh, it's time for the rebellious stage, is it? Awesome. A little odd as well considering Ben has seemed mostly content with his life in the time Dean has known him. He shrugs out of his jacket and he's just hanging it up when it hits him. Oh. Dude. That's Guns N' Roses. Ben only ever listens to G'N'R when he's upset. Dean tenses and straightens, inclining his head toward the stairs. Acting on impulse, he starts toward the staircase without calling for Lisa and it's only when he's sprinting past the living room that he sees her. He skids to a halt and backtracks quickly. ''Lisa?''
She's sitting on the couch weeping bitterly into her hands.
Well, shit.
Tears are never good. They are caged chaos. The glass of wine sitting on the coffee table in front of her, deep and dark and red in a long stemmed glass, is worse. ''Lise,'' he goes toward her, sliding onto the couch next to her. ''Hey,'' he reaches out to touch her face gently when she looks up, all tearstained cheeks and red rimmed eyes. She looks so tired. ''What happened?'' He asks brusquely, wiping a tear off her cheek with his thumb.
''Ben,'' she chokes out, and then her lips waver.
Dean's heart plummets. ''What about Ben?'' His voice is strained and a touch too gruff. He'll have to remember to apologize later. ''Is he hurt? Did something happen?''
''He's angry with me,'' she cries. ''I don't blame him. I really don't. But... But...'' She chokes on a sob, blubbering helplessly and collapsing limply against his chest. He's not exactly sure what to do in this situation so he wraps his arms around her and rubs her back.
The guilt sets in like a disease. Again. He's a bastard. Lisa's a good girl, a great girl, a real great girl, and he's going around stealing kisses with Ruby like it's three years ago. He's an asshole. But hey, at least he's fucking man enough to admit that considering he ain't man enough to do much else about this unbearable situation.
''I don't want him to hate me,'' she's mumbling, voice muffled by both her hands and his chest.
''I know,'' he soothes.
''I don't want you to hate me.''
That stops him cold. A sick feeling that has nothing to do with the ever present guilt worms its way into his stomach. ''Why would I hate you?''
She goes still in his arms.
He thinks about how sometimes Ben's smile is familiar. Oh, Jesus Christ.
''Lisa,'' he pulls her away from him and tries to find answers in her glassy eyes. ''Lisa,'' he says again. ''What did you do?'' She bites down on her bottom lip; he goes cold and his fingers, grasping her shoulders, tighten. ''Okay,'' he whispers raggedly. ''Okay, I need you to tell me what happened. Right now.''
She closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath.
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Ben has always been a very bright and beautiful child with honest to god chivalry in him. She has always felt incredibly blessed to have him as her son. He's perfect. He's perfect and he's hers. But he is not just hers. Therein lies the problem, the dirty little secret she keeps inside day after day after day. Ben is smart and kind and gets along well with others and he is irreversibly charming. And he never asks about his biological father. It's like he can sense how much it stings for her to think about his father. It makes her feel guilty. It makes her soul feel unclean. For her son's entire life, she has been carrying around the weight of her little lie on her shoulders and her beautiful and perfect little boy has never called her on it.
Until now.
She doesn't know why now is so special, she just knows that those delicate and fragile webs of deceit she has woven for twelve long years are unraveling right in front of her eyes over a plate of macaroni and cheese.
Ben is staring at her expectantly from the other side of the table, empty plate pushed away, hands folded neatly in front of him. There is a wall in front of him that seems impenetrable and his face is carefully blank.
Lisa gulps. ''Wh-What did you just ask me?''
''It's not algebra, Mom,'' he says slowly. ''Is Dean my father or not? Yes or no?''
She shifts in her seat, fails to come up with an answer and pulls a piece of macaroni off her fork with her teeth instead, even though she has suddenly lost her appetite. ''Honey,'' she says with a swallow. ''You know Dean loves you like - ''
''Yes,'' Ben interrupts. ''I do. I do know Dean loves me like. But that's not what I asked you. I asked you whether or not he's my father. I'd really like to know, Mom. I have a right to know. So does Dean.''
She flinches. When did her baby boy grow up?
He deflates at her flinch, looking down at the table. ''I don't want to hurt your feelings,'' he says quietly. ''I never wanted that. That's why I never asked. But it's... It's just time, you know? Please. Just tell me yes or no.'' He looks at her with pleading eyes and she can feel her heart crack.
She sits there, feeling like an idiot for a long time and then she rises to her feet swiftly to clear away the plates. ''Ben, this really isn't the time to - ''
''Mom!''
She stops in her tracks on the way to the kitchen, closing her stinging eyes.
''Please! Don't you think I deserve to know?'' Ben's voice cracks on the last word.
The cutlery on the plates clatter noisily when her hands begin to shake. ''Ben, I - There are... There are so many things you won't understand,'' she tells him, voice hitching as she all but staggers over to the sink to drop the dishes in quite unceremoniously. ''And I don't know if I can explain them.''
''Well, can't you just try?'' Suddenly he's right beside her, leaning against the sink. When he manages to catch her eye, he won't let her look away. ''Can't you just try to explain?''
''I don't want to disappoint you,'' she admits, wringing her hands nervously.
Ben's face falls and his shoulders slump dejectedly. ''So it's... It's not Dean?''
She hesitates and then turns away from him, turning the faucet on to rinse off the dirty dishes. ''I didn't say that.''
''Then he is my father?''
''Ben - ''
''Will you just tell me?!''
''I don't know!'' She shuts off the water and whips back around to face him. There are tears gathering in her eyes and dreadful shame gnawing at her. ''Ben, I don't know who your father is.'' She has never said that out loud. It sounds even worse than it sounds in her head.
He takes a step away from her, looking at her like she's a stranger. His gaze feels like a knife in her gut. ''What do you mean you don't know? How can you not know?''
''When I got pregnant with you... Honey, it was just - I had been going through a rough time and - I'm not that kind of girl, Ben. I wasn't that kind of girl. I didn't - I wasn't... Ben, please - '' She gives up on trying to make the excuses she has been concocting for twelve years and makes a desperate grab for her son instead only to have him skirt away from her. He bats her hand away with a scowl and glares at her through glossy eyes, fists clenched at his sides. See, this? This is exactly why she kept this from him. She didn't want him to look down on her. She kept it from him to keep him from getting hurt. To keep herself from getting hurt.
Ben glares at her, eyes glimmering, swallowing hard. He opens his mouth to say something to her, something that will hurt her as much as she has hurt him, but he can't seem to get any words out. Finally, he shakes his head, lip curled in disgust, says, ''Don't talk to me,'' and then he turns and bolts.
She wishes he had yelled at her.
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Lisa has stopped sobbing by the end of her story. Now she's pacing wildly in front of him, distressed and guilty. There's a part of him that wants to comfort her but - fuck. Jesus Christ. She should be feeling fucking guilty. That's what he knows. What he doesn't know is how he should be feeling. This is a very, very unforeseen turn of events! What does one do in this kind of situation?
''You told me...'' Dean rises to his feet and tries to grasp at the words he can't decipher. ''Lisa, you told me you got him tested when he was born. You told me he wasn't mine. You told me over and over.''
She stops pacing and reluctantly lifts her shameful and red rimmed eyes to him. ''I lied.''
Actually, she didn't. Not really. Now that he's thinking about it, she never outright said Ben is not yours. He asked her if she was sure Ben wasn't his kid and she said... All she said was you're off the hook. Oh, he is so not prepared to deal with this right now. He pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a few deep breaths and then steals the wine glass off the table. While he's chugging wine, she's collapsing in a chair far away from him and putting her head between her knees. ''So all that stuff about the other guy? The guy in the bar? Was that a lie, too?''
She looks up with a heavy sigh. ''No. That was true.'' She stands and glides over to him. ''There's a reason why I don't know, Dean. There was another guy. Right after you.''
''Awesome,'' he bites out. ''That is just awesome, Lise. Seriously, good for you. You got a lot of ass! Feel proud!''
She winces, chewing on her thumbnail.
He silences for a moment, trying to take in a few calming breaths. When that plan doesn't work, he resorts to plan B. Lips twisted into a frown, he locks his eyes on her and somehow manages to keep his voice low and steady. ''Why?'' He asks. ''Why couldn't you just tell me the truth when I asked?'' It goes away. The guilt; it goes away for a second. Twelve years. Twelve years and he could have had it all. He could have had a family.
Yes, a little voice says in the back of his head, but you wouldn't have had Ruby.
''Twelve years, Lisa,'' he says calmly. He thinks it is quite a feat that he's not yelling at her right now given the anger and frustration boiling inside of him. ''You've kept this secret for twelve fucking years. All I'm asking is why. Why did you lie to me? Why didn't you get him tested?''
The second she looks him in the eye, he knows what she's going to say and he knows it's going to hurt like a bitch. ''Because I didn't want it to be you,'' she says regretfully.
Yep. Hurts like a bitch.
''Why?'' He dodges her hand when she tries to touch him and steps away from her. ''Do you hate me that much? Am I that bad?''
''No!'' She rushes toward him, clutching at his shirt even as he tries to push her away from him. ''Dean, no. That wasn't - '' And she's crying again, big fat tears that roll down her ashen cheeks in rivulets. ''I didn't want to hurt anybody,'' her voice wobbles, ''I never wanted to hurt anybody. I didn't want to hurt Ben. I didn't want to hurt you.'' She says it so sincerely it's as if she's not only trying to placate him but herself as well.
He pushes her hands away, tightening his jaw. ''Yeah? Well, now we're all hurting.''
''Dean,'' her voice takes on a sharper tone as she takes the hint and backs away from hm. ''I was in a bad place when we met, all right? My father had just died and I wasn't dealing with it in the best way. I was young and stupid and hurt and we all do regretful things when we're young and stupid and hurt. And then you came along. And I liked you. I liked you a lot. You made me feel things that I hadn't felt in a long time. But I knew that to you... I was just a warm body. A hot girl to shack up with for a weekend. A good time. It hurt when you left. While I was sleeping - ''
''Don't try and turn this around on me!''
''I'm not! Will you let me finish?!'' Her eyes flash. ''And the other guy -The other guy didn't mean anything. He was just a guy in a bar.'' She pauses and takes in a deep breath, closing her eyes like she's preparing herself for battle. That can't be a good sign. ''Then when you came back...'' She shakes her head until her dark hair falls in her face. ''Your life was so dangerous, Dean. I thought it would be easier on all of us if - ''
''If you lied,'' he finishes for her bitterly.
''But then you came back again!'' Her eyes light up and she places her hands flat against his chest again in an attempt to apologize. ''And you stayed. You finally stayed with us and you're so great with Ben and now... Now I'm terrified that it won't be you.''
He catches her wrist when she tries to touch his face. ''Don't. Please.'' You know, this actually hurts quite a bit. Having the good girl part of the equation reveal she's a dirty liar stings a fair amount. Her gaze goes to the ceiling like she's praying for forgiveness, and Dean cannot handle this right now. Her confession digs deep into his skin like a knife. What is he supposed to do with it?
''I didn't mean for it to get this out of hand,'' she offers quietly.
''I want to get him tested,'' he talks over her, crossing his arms. ''I want to know if he's mine.''
''But - ''
''Really?'' He smirks cruelly. ''You're gonna fight me on this?''
Something about his tone must set her off like a freaking firecracker because her eyes harden and this time, when she grasps at his shirt it is not at all in an attempt for forgiveness. ''What if it's not you? Would it really change anything? Would you treat him any different?''
''Of course I wouldn't,'' he mutters, trying to untangle her hand from his shirt. Holy crap, she's got one hell of a grip. ''But I'd know. Don't you think that means something?''
She doesn't reply, which kills him. It's like she still doesn't want him to be Ben's father. Like she's terrified that her son could have Winchester genes. If he's being honest, he gets that. Despite the fact that he wants Ben to be his and he always has, there is still a part of him that is petrified of what it will mean for Ben if he does have that cursed blood running through his veins. Winchester men are danger prone. Dean doesn't want that for Ben. So, yes. Deep down, he understands her anguish. It's not entirely unfounded. But it still cuts deep and slices through arteries and veins and he is still a Winchester so he reacts emotionally. He turns away from her, runs a hand over his face, weighs the consequences of his next actions and then turns back around to face her, letting his own confession spill from his lips purely just to hurt her like she's hurt him.
''Lisa,'' he says. ''I kissed Ruby.''
Then he learns that Lisa ''Good Girl'' Braeden has some fire in her after all when he has to duck to avoid being pelted with the wine glass she throws at his head.
.
.
.
The wine leaves a stain. They go to bed angry. Ben locks his door, plays his music much too loudly and yells for them to go away whenever either Dean or Lisa try to talk to him. There is no such thing as perfection. Perhaps it's good that Dean has learned that before he dug himself a hole there would be no way out of. Everything has a place in this world. Everyone has a home.
Dean wonders if he's chosen the right one.
It's not Ben. Ben has never been the problem. He loves Ben. Don't tell Lisa but at first she was merely an afterthought. Ben was the real reason he came back to them. He hadn't been in love with Lisa when he found himself on her doorstep. He had loved her in some way, but he hadn't been in love with her. That came later. He came back for Ben.
And as much as he'd love to stay and build a home for his possible son, he still can't figure out if he's really and truly in love with Lisa. He's always going to be in Ben's life whether Lisa likes it or not. Especially if he is, in fact, his father. But he's not sure how long he can keep this relationship with Lisa running on fumes.
There are two women to choose from. One of them turns things upside down and rips things apart, overturning furniture and hearts and leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. The other puts things back in their place with a soft smile and makes cookies without burning them.
Here's the thing: Dean knows exactly which one he wants and he knows exactly where he wants to be. He just doesn't know how to get there.
.
.
.
''Everyone in this room got here somehow and everyone in this room will have to leave.
So what's left? Sing a song about the room we're in?''
- unfinished duet
AN: Okay, so I realize that Dean and Ben's reaction to the whole paternity thing may have come across as unnecessarily harsh, and honestly, I'm inclined to agree. They were harsh. However, Dean is Dean and Dean has a tendency to react with his heart and gut instead of his head when it comes to things like this, and Ben... Well, Ben is a hurt and confused twelve year old boy. I mean, it sucks being twelve as it is. Now this poor kid has all of this crap on his plate. I feel it is important to add that they will both feel incredibly awful for treating her so harshly. Because they both do love her. They're just feeling a little betrayed at the moment.