Hi guys! Sorry for a long wait, I had some problems with this story, sort of a writer's block... I was also unsure someone's actually still reading this, so I concentrated on my other stories... Sorry 'bout that, I'm finally back with my Em story! As always, hope you'll enjoy it and let me know.

L.

Chapter 11 - Withdrawal

Saturday

I think it's the third day that gets to anyone going through withdrawal. I don't know for sure, of course, but it seems to me, it must be the third day. On the first day, you are still full of determination – you're doing the right thing, you're strong and you're kind of proud of yourself for how well you're doing. You even manage to go through the whole day without a glitch!

On the second day it's getting hard, but you're managing. You're being strong and you can withstand the hardships of withdrawal. Or so you tell yourself, but by the evening you start questioning your reasons. You manage though, but somehow it doesn't feel as good anymore.

And it's the third day that gets you. It's the third day that you start questioning yourself, going through your reasons and thinking that maybe, just maybe, whatever you're abstaining from wasn't that bad for you. Maybe you don't have to quit just now, surely there's still time! And surely you weren't all that ready to let go, so why continue, when you can have whatever it is back. Just a little. Nothing serious, just a little hit.

I think that's what I'm feeling as I'm staring at my phone. I'm at work trying to get back to the breadbox I've been making, but my head pounds and every few minutes I glance at my phone which just doesn't ring. I understand Dean is not a substance I've been abusing and have to withdraw from, but the feeling I get is something I associate with abstaining. I miss him so much it's almost physical. It's as if he'd clawed deep under my skin, ripped something out and I can feel this absence in all of my being. It's absurd, of course, to feel that way about someone I don't even really know, someone who will probably never come back, but…

I'm shamefully glad I don't have his number – I don't know if I would be strong enough to stop myself from getting that little bit of him if I did. I was right not to exchange numbers and I shouldn't have given him mine, because even though I can't call him, all I do is stare at my phone and hope he'd call me… He doesn't though and part of me breaks at that while other part is relieved, because I have to go through this withdrawal and the only way to do so is not to speak to him again.

I'm going to Emma's birthday party tonight and I just know I'm going to try to get drunk. I need to let go and I need to forget, even if just for a few hours. Again, I'm shamefully glad I don't have his number, because even I know that being inebriated does nothing to increase self control and rational thinking. So I'm just going to get drunk with Tom and stay as far away from Emma as possible, so I don't do anything stupid. Like break it off on her birthday. Or have sex with her so I don't feel so alone anymore. As I said, stupid.

By the time I reach Emma's place, the party is in full swing. In the town this size, almost everyone in the age group is invited anyway.

"Emma!" I smile at her. She's in one of her rare dresses, she's happy and excited and her eyes glow warmly as she looks at me.

"Em! Finally! I told Mark I'd have his head if you didn't come."

"I said I'd come." I laugh and hand her a package and kiss her cheek. "Here, happy birthday!"

"You didn't have to…"

"It's a birthday, people give gifts on birthdays." I deadpan and she smiles.

"Thanks, Em! I'm glad you came."

"Me too. Ok, so where can I get a drink? It's been a long day and I could really use one." I grin looking around. Emma points me towards the makeshift bar. "Alright, I won't keep you from your guests, see you later."

I stride towards the bar and get a beer. I look around to find Tom and I see him speaking to Jess. I know there's some kind of history between the two, so I decide not to butt in. Instead I roam around a little, drinking my beer and wishing for something stronger. That said something stronger comes to me unexpectedly in the form of buzzing in my pocket. I pull out the phone and see unknown number flashing on the screen. My stomach clenches up with hope I am trying to stifle.

"Hello?" I say picking up and striding towards the door to go someplace quiet.

"Hey." I hear his voice and I sigh with relief.

"Dean…" I breathe.

"Yeah. Is it a bad time?" He asks as I walk out the door.

"No, it's ok, I'm just at the party. Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Just… you know, thought I'd call."

"I'm glad you did." I tell him honestly. "How's Sam? Is he better?"

"Not really. Still not sleeping much." He mutters and then changes the subject. "So, party?"

"Yeah… It's Emma's birthday, so… Besides I figured I could use a distraction."

"And your girlfriend would kill you if you didn't come."

"She's not my girlfriend." I tell him automatically and he laughs.

"So, how's the party? Are you having fun?"

"Well… I just came here. I had to work today and there were some things to take care of, so I don't really know how the party is. It seems fine – half the town is here anyway."

"Freakin' small towns…" He mumbles.

"I take it you're not a fan."

"Nah. My hometown is Lawrence, Kansas. Not a big city by any standards, but not a small town too. My family traveled a lot when I was a kid and more often than not Sam and I got to go to small town schools. I can't bring myself to like small towns ever since."

"Why's that?" I ask and sit down leaning at the tree bark in Emma's back yard.

"People always want to know everything in small towns. There's no privacy and you have to remember an impressive amount of lies to go by."

"That's true… But also there's always someone who'll be willing to help you if you need it."

"There's that." He agrees. "So how've you been?"

"I'm alright." I lie smoothly. As always, I don't want whatever it is we have to be marred by sadness. "You?"

"Peachy."

There's a silence between us for a few moments.

"I shouldn't have called, should I?" He asks finally.

"I don't know." I tell him truthfully. "I… I just thought it would be easier."

"Speaking to me?"

"No, not speaking to you."

"It's ridiculous." He mutters and I flinch. Yes, I should really keep my mouth shut.

"I'm sorry."

"No, not that… It's ridiculous how much I want to see you."

"Oh… You do?"

"Yeah. I know it's crazy and all. Dammit, how the hell did you get under my skin?"

"I'm pretty sure it's your fault. I mean you saved my life!"

"Yeah, but I save a lot of lives. I don't usually let people get to me like that. And now I should be getting ready to face those suckers tomorrow, but instead all I can think of is you. It just sucks."

"I'm sorry." I say again, but I really am not. It's relief what I'm feeling, and longing, but definitely not regret.

"Are you?" He wonders and then continues. "Anyway, I figured I'd call you, since I can't do anything about it."

"I'm glad you did. I've been thinking about you too."

"Anything dirty?" He asks and I can hear a grin in his voice.

"Maybe."

"Really?" He's all excited. "Tell me."

"I'm in Emma's back yard and there are people quite close to me. I think I can see a couple making out – I'm really not telling you anything now."

"Is that your way of making me call you later?" He asks laughing.

"Maybe." I grin. "Regardless, I can't promise I'd tell you what I've been thinking of. Besides, I would much rather show you."

"Would you now?" He drawls and the pauses. "Dammit, Em! How can I concentrate on stuff when you say things like that?"

"Would it help if I told you I missed the way your skin feels under my hands? Or that I love how your body feels pressed to me – strong and hard and yet yielding and pliant under my touch? Or maybe the way I love the taste of your mouth – raw and wet and so undeniably you? Or better yet how I crave the taste and feeling of your dick in my mouth? Filling me, overwhelming with the taste and scent of musk and bitterness and something I don't even know the name for…" I close my eyes as I hear his breath hitch and a soft moan escape his lips on the other side of the line. I'm painfully hard now and I want him here so much it physically hurts. "Or maybe I should tell you how I want to stretch you and slick you up and then thrust into you again and again until everything else stops mattering?"

Dean gasps then.

"Em… How did you…. Where… I mean…" He's panting.

"Dean, I'm afraid you're slightly incoherent." I tell him seriously and then after a beat of silence we're both laughing.

"For a guy who doesn't remember having sex with anyone but me, you're awesomely kinky!" He laughs.

"I blame you. I'm sure I was never like that before I met you. So, does it help to concentrate?" I chuckle.

"Yeah, on you! And didn't you just say there are people around you?"

"Yes, but they went away. Besides, I figured they were busy anyway."

"You keep surprising me, you know? Just when I think I know what to expect you kind of pull the rug from under me."

"In a good way, I hope?" I ask.

"Yeah, in a good way. I would have never pegged you for a phone sex kind of guy, but dammit, you sure can pull it off."

"Well, I'm not precisely given much choice. As I said I'd rather have you here and do things to you than talk about them. But hey, I suppose it's the next best thing."

"Well… You know, you kind of have a girlfriend, I mean… You know."

I take a moment to compose myself. I could tell him I plan to break it off, but as far as I understand, this is not something he's interested in anyway. I mean surely he wouldn't remind me of Emma every time he can if he didn't want me to pursue her. So I decide to keep it to myself.

"Yeah, I have Emma." I agree calmly. "You are right Dean, there are options. Speaking of which, I should probably get back to her – I don't think she's going to be thrilled if I spend her birthday in the back yard on the phone."

"Um… Yeah, ok, suppose you're right." He mutters and I swear if I didn't know better I'd say he's disappointed. As it is, I just shrug it off.

"Thanks for calling, anyway. I really wanted to hear your voice."

"Yeah, me to. Take care, Em."

"You too. Be safe."

I hang up the phone and close my eyes. I wonder briefly if this is why people say life's a bitch. I want Dean more than anything else in this life, but he just doesn't want me back this way. And Emma clearly wants me, but I don't want her that way… It just sucks…

2 weeks later

Saturday

He hasn't called me again.

I put an order on new drills for Emma's dad. I also order more nails, because my neighbor, Josh, is building the shed and he bought all the long nails we had in the shop. I go along the rows of shelves in the shop and write down everything that we need to re-stock. Not much, it's a small town after all. I put down the information on every order form methodically, slowly, making sure I don't miss anything.

He hasn't called me in two weeks.

I sigh and carry on with the stocktaking. It takes me half of the day, but by the time I'm finished, I'm satisfied with the results and I have put an order for everything we need.

I haven't called him too.

I retreat to the shop and start working on cupboard I started few days ago. I finished the bread box last week and gave it to John yesterday. He seemed really glad I made it for him. So I started working on the cupboard. Mark gave me the blueprints and then showed me the basics and I think I have it. It keeps my hands occupied and it's really what I need right now.

I miss him.

I have broken off the thing I had with Emma. It was the right thing to do. I know Dean doesn't care about it, but I do – I can't lead her on when I think of him so much, when I want him so much. It had hurt to see her disappointed face when I explained her I couldn't do this anymore. I apologized and said it had nothing to do with her, I told her I just wasn't in that place and that I valued our friendship too much to risk it. She said she understood and we agreed to be friends again, but I can see it's hard for her. She steps by the shop every couple of days and Tom, Emma and I went to movies together on Thursday, but sometimes, when she thinks I'm not looking, I catch her watching me sadly. I feel very guilty about it, I should have stopped this sooner, but… I do like her and if I had never met Dean, I'd probably be dating her still and be happy about it. As it is, I know this was the right decision to make, even if it left me alone every evening thinking about him and not calling him.

I can't help hoping he still thinks about me sometimes.

Ridiculous of course. He has a lot on his plate – leviathans, whatever the hell that is, his ill brother, saving people… And seriously – it was meant to be a one time thing, I have to stop thinking about him! He's not coming back, it was just a one night stand gone too long, that's all. I try to convince myself of that every single night, but despite everything, I still hope he'd call.

Around noon Tom comes to see me and stays almost until closing time. Once he found out I stopped seeing Emma, he asked me what was that about and I was on the verge of telling him about Dean. I didn't, in the end. I don't know why I didn't, I really wanted to talk to someone about that, but it kind of seemed like a betrayal of Dean's trust. Instead I gave him the same excuses I gave Emma and he looked at me as if I was crazy. Today though he just came to talk to me about the trip he's planning to take. He wanted to go to Florida for a long time and finally in two weeks he's going. It was supposed to be his and Brian's trip, originally, but Tom decided to go anyway. I'm glad for him, he really needs a break.

When he leaves I close up and go back to the workshop to work on the cupboard some more. I don't have places to be and my home is empty, so I decide to stay here for a bit longer. I think I lose time, because when I hear a knock on the door of the shop, it's dark outside. I glance at the clock – it's almost nine already. I wonder briefly who could be coming here at this time of the evening and then look down at myself. I'm all covered in wood chips and my hands are a mess from smoothing the wood. I shake my head and yell "One second!" before brushing the chips from my clothes.

I walk to the door and open it.

"You weren't home." Dean mutters and for a few seconds all I can do is stare at him. I can't find my voice and I can't find words I could use now. So I stare at him and take in his worn and tired state. From the looks of it he doesn't seem to have slept for at least two days. His eyes are hollowed and the expression in them is guarded, unreadable, but I still know something bad happened. I can see his hands are shaking slightly and his jaw is set firmly as if he's trying to pull himself together.

"What's wrong?" I finally croak and he shudders.

"Can we go to your place?" He asks in a tight voice.

I nod and motion him inside. I go to the workshop and put the lights out, then I come back to him and after putting couple of things to their places I nod again.

"Let's go."

He drives us back to my home in silence. This same silence is there when we walk into my house and I lead him to the living room and we sit down on the couch. I look at him expectantly and take his hands in mine.

"What's wrong?" I ask again and I see pain flash in his eyes, but the next moment he's kissing me. He's rougher than ever before, his hands grip me bruisingly, his mouth insistent and hard against mine. He pulls me to him smashing his lips against mine once again and holding me by the back of my neck. I could struggle and get away and there's part of me that wants just that, but the bigger part of me knows this is what he needs right now. Whatever happened, he needs to get it out and so I let him pull and yank me to him, bite my neck leaving marks and bruises, scrape my skin. I let him pull at my clothes feverishly, yanking them out of his way. Before I know it my t-shirt is off and he's pushing me down on my back, fumbling with my zipper and peeling my jeans and underwear off me. It's frenzied and feverish and I can feel my head spinning with the need I have for him. He crawls on top of me then and starts trailing his mouth down my body, leaving marks and bites along the way. I buck and groan beneath him, but at the same time I clutch him and cling to him, trailing my hands down his back and up his sides, caressing him and trying to make him feel me through whatever haze he's in. I don't know what's happening, but I want to help him, I want him to let go of whatever it is that makes his touch punishing instead of pleasing. I can feel his pain, it throbs deep inside me and I want him to feel better. I wonder momentarily if I should try to will him to feel better, but I dismiss it. He needs to let it out and I'll help him do just that. My mind is clouded with the heady mix of desire and pain as he bites and then licks at my skin, as he grips and then caresses my muscles. I moan and I groan because despite of everything I want him and there's this fire in me that just can't get enough of his bruising touch. His lips and teeth find my nipple and he's twisting and pulling painfully. I arch my back into that touch and suddenly he pushes two of his fingers into my mouth. I suck at them obediently and then I'm abruptly flipped over onto my stomach. Dean settles between my legs pulling me up so I'm on my hands and knees. He gives me a second to pull away, but I don't. I want him too much as is and I really want him to snap out of it, to come back to his former self. I close my eyes and try to relax, but before I can he pushes his fingers into me. He's hard and relentless and I flinch at the pain and burn of intrusion. He thrusts his fingers in and out couple of times, opening me up and just as I start to get used to his fingers in me, he pulls them away. I can hear him spit and I try to ready myself for the pain I know will follow. He grips my hips tightly and starts pushing in. There's no way there's enough lubrication and I'm fairly certain I'm not prepared enough, but I grind my teeth and hold all the sounds of pain and discomfort that threaten to burst out. He doesn't stop or hesitate – he pushes all the way in and it takes all I have not to pull away. From what I read, the first time is never too easy, but I don't think it should hurt as much. I clench my hands into fists and bite on my lip until I draw blood to stop myself from whimpering. I won't show him this hurts, because whatever his reasons are, he needs this and I can do this for him. I briefly wish he'd give me a moment to adjust, but he doesn't. Instead he pulls almost all the way out and then slams back into me. He sets a hard rhythm, thrusting and pounding into me. My head swims with pain and something else I can't even identify and yet the fire in me starts blazing just like before, as if there's something in me wanting him no matter what he does and who he is. I lower my head and concentrate on the fire in the pit of my stomach, holding onto it, letting it scald me and yet not letting it to get out of control. Soon I feel Dean's rhythm start faltering, his thrusts become erratic and I think I hear him speak. I'm not sure, because there's just too much with the pain of his thrusts and the scalding of the fire, but I think I hear him mutter against my back 'I wish it wasn't your fault'. It doesn't make sense though, because I'm sure I haven't done anything and yet… A second later I hear him let out a low cry and then he tenses and with the last hard thrust he's coming deep inside me.

When he eases himself out of me I turn around and pull him into my arms and wrap myself around him. He's sweaty and tired, but he's still shaking feverishly. I brush his hair from his forehead and trail careful kisses down his shoulder all the while holding him and caressing him.

"It's going to be ok, Dean. You're here now; it's going to be ok." I whisper to him, stroking his back and he sobs silently clutching me tightly.

"It's Bobby… he's dead…"