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Something was wrong. She knew it the instant she woke and she woke quickly, which was odd. Normally, Liv woke slowly, lavishing in the warmth of his body beneath the sheets. She woke languidly, snuggling closer to him and wrapping her arms and legs around him. But, that morning, the room was chilly and the sheets were cold. Something was wrong and he was already gone.
The night before, after he'd hobbled up the cabin steps and pulled her tightly against him, had been surreal. After they'd reassured each other that they were both alright, they had gone inside, arm in arm, and settled onto the couch. Liv doted after him, worrying over his leg and head, which was cut but not badly. He told her, over and over, that he was completely fine, as Bobby and Sam smirked from the kitchen table. Liv wasn't comforted. The cast was enormous and he admitted, somewhat reluctantly, that his leg was broken in several places. Molly, who had never really warmed up to Dean after he stole her place in Liv's bed, sat by Sam's leg with her head on his shoe.
After two, endless hours of discussion, of going over the events of the previous night, Liv was finally able to steal Dean away to one of the small, dusty bedrooms. She had changed the sheets in all three rooms, and had tidied them as best she could, but the entire cabin was a lost cause. As soon as the door shut behind them, she flung herself at him.
The bed was old and filled with rusted, creaking springs that protested their dual weight but Liv ignored them. She also cast aside the mortifying realization that Sam and Bobby would hear every move they made.
They were clumsy, at first. Every few moments, Dean would cry out in pain as he leaned too far onto his bad leg, or twisted his hip into an awkward angle. Liv tried to kiss and caress away his pain but, when every movement became excruciating for him, she simply rolled him over onto his back and straddled his waist. Waves of pleasure washed over her, waves as strong and regular as the incoming tide, and he was the moon, bringing them in.
He sat up, abruptly, and wrapped his arms around her waist, guiding her movements, steadying her rhythm. She lowered her head to kiss him as the tide finally came in and overwhelmed her. Without thinking, without even being aware, she whispered softly that she loved him. As soon as the words were spoken, she regretted them. Not because they weren't true, but because it was too soon. She felt him tense beneath her, but couldn't be sure if he was angered by her declaration or because his own tidal wave was crashing down around him. She hadn't expected him to reciprocate, but couldn't help feeling sad when he said nothing.
Afterward, with his head nestled between her breasts and both of their bodies' glossed over with a fine sheen of sweat, he remained silent. The rough, heavy plaster of his cast chafed her thigh but she didn't move away. His breathing slowed and grew steady as she twirled his short locks through her fingers and, eventually, she drifted off as well.
But, the next morning, he was gone and the bed was cold.
His clothes were still balled up on the dirty, wooden floor. She decided she'd mop, as soon as someone took her to the nearest store. She doubted Rufus would have left much in the way of cleaning supplies and, if he had, he sure hadn't been using them. She picked up his shirt and jeans and folded them, then tossed them onto the bed.
Pulling on a pair of old sweatpants and one of Dean's flannel shirts, she stepped out of the room. The floor was ice cold against her bare feet. The kitchen and sitting room were empty and still dark; the sun was just barely up and the cabin was surrounded by trees that blocked the little bit of light that was only then beginning to fill the sky.
"Hello?" Liv said, carefully. No one answered, but she saw that the front door was cracked. She crept toward it and pushed it open, poking her head through. "Oh, hey," she said when she saw Dean sitting on the porch swing, wrapped in an enormous, old quilt.
"Hey," he answered.
"What are you doing out here? It's freezing," she said. He opened the blanket and gestured for her to join him on the swing. He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of Sam's flannel, pajama pants, split up one leg so that there was room for his cast. She slipped in next to him and he pulled the quilt closed, his arm circling stiffly around her shoulder. Her body felt warmer but, inside, she was still chilled and the feeling that something was wrong intensified.
"Where are they?" she asked when he didn't answer her first question. Her Jeep sat alone, parked by a large, evergreen tree. The Impala was gone.
"Town. They went to the store," he said. With his good leg, he pushed against the railing in front of them so that the swing began to rock, slowly.
"Oh, damn. I would have gone. This place is filthy; I hope they get some Pledge or something so I can start cleaning up." She rested her head on his shoulder, wishing his body would relax.
"I don't think that's gonna happen, Liv," he said. The swing moved more quickly.
"Something against Pledge?" she asked. "Everything in this place is wood."
"I mean, you won't be cleaning the cabin," he said, patiently.
Liv was careful with her next words, understanding the gravity of the situation.
"I don't mind cleaning," she said.
He moved away from her, only the slightest bit, but she noticed and pulled back. The quilt fell away from her shoulder and she shivered as the frigid, morning air accosted her skin through the flannel of his shirt. The sun still hadn't reached the porch.
"I think it's about time this ended," he said. The porch swing stopped moving, abruptly.
Liv's breath caught in her throat. "This? What do you mean, 'this'?" she asked, quietly.
"This," he said, motioning from himself to her. "Whatever this is, between us."
"Dean…" she began. "If this is about what I said last night, it was a mistake. I just got caught up in the moment, I guess and…" She was rambling and she knew it but, thankfully, he stopped her.
"It's not about that. I hope it wasn't true, for your sake, but it's not about that," he said. Liv realized he still hadn't looked at her.
"Then what? Why do you think it should stop? This doesn't make sense."
"It's not just that I think it should stop," he said harshly. "I want it to stop."
Liv's face twisted into a grimace of pain and confusion and he finally looked at her, into her eyes.
"I want you to leave," he said, coldly.
"Oh," Liv said, her voice barely a whisper. "I guess that makes sense."
He nodded and turned away again. The swing started slowly rocking back and forth, again. Liv stood, hastily, and her side of the quilt dropped to the porch floor. Dean bent over, wincing, and pulled the blanket back up and around himself.
"I guess I'll get my stuff," she said, her lower lip trembling. But, she refused to cry, especially not in front of him.
"That's a good idea," he answered, and leaned back into the swing. Liv turned away and hurried into the cabin. The screen door slammed behind her.
He cringed as the door crashed shut, the loud bang echoing through the trees like a gunshot. Under the blanket, his hands trembled and deep, crescent shaped craters were embedded into his palms from his fingernails. He'd forced them into tight, brutal fists to keep from punching the railing, the wooden pillar, the wall behind him, anything in his reach. He had controlled himself, which he considered a victory, and she hadn't seen his shaking hands or heard the catch in his voice, which was even more so. He thought he'd done a pretty good job of convincing her.
The air around him felt colder than before, even though the sun was starting to break through the trees. The quilt was worthless, especially the half that she'd been bundled into. It was still warm from her body heat but he felt undeserving and let it fall. Thankfully, Sam and Bobby pulled up a few minutes later. Dean forced a smile and stood, clumsily.
"I hope you bastards brought me some new clothes," he called, and swallowed the lump in his throat. "All I have is one pair of jeans and a shirt." Two shirts, he thought, remembering the flannel Liv had been wearing.
"Yeah, I found you some black skinny jeans and one of those mesh, fishnet tank tops," Sam shouted, grinning.
"Fuck you, man," Dean growled and followed them inside. He could hear Liv in the bedroom, packing her few things. Molly was spread out on the couch, grinning dopily at Sam, who walked over to scratch her belly.
Bobby shuffled around the kitchen, loading the refrigerator and cabinets with food and beer while Sam started pulling out pots and pans and stacking them in the sink.
"Hey, maybe Liv'll make us some breakfast," Sam called. He started scrubbing the pans, which were all coated in a thick layer of grimy grease. "We got eggs and bacon, sausage, oatmeal, all kinds of crap."
"I don't think so, Sam," Liv said. She had stepped out of the bedroom, dressed in a pair of worn jeans and an oversized sweater, carrying her duffel bag over one shoulder. Molly's leash and her car keys were in one hand.
Sam and Bobby didn't speak when Liv called for the dog and fastened the leash to her pale, pink collar. They didn't speak when she stepped toward the door and slipped on her worn moccasins, which had replaced her old sandals when the weather began to cool.
Dean leaned back on the couch, refusing to look up at all. He couldn't stand to see the way Sam's mouth dropped open in surprise, or the angry confusion in Bobby's eyes.
"What's going on?" Bobby asked, his voice edged with concern.
"Nothing, Bobby," Liv answered. "It's just time I… you know, head on down the road," she finished, lamely, pointing at the door.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked. He dropped the dish sponge he'd been holding and walked over to her. Dean started at the black television screen, wishing he'd gone into one of the vacant bedrooms.
"I'm gonna go home," Liv answered, brightly. Dean could hear the pain beneath the fake, airy, cheerfulness and was sure that Sam and Bobby would, too.
"Why? We just got here," Sam said. Dean looked up, for a second, and saw Sam place his hand on her shoulder. She pulled away, smiling awkwardly, and reached for the door.
"I miss my family," she said, simply. "I want to check in on my dad. It's just time."
"Listen, Livvie, I'm not sure it's such a good idea for you to leave," Bobby said.
"Jesus, guys, she wants to leave, let her leave," Dean burst out. He could hear the tension in her voice, and could sense how badly she just wanted to be away from their questions.
Bobby shot him a dark, murderous look and walked over to hold the door open for Liv. "I'll walk you out, then," he said.
Liv nodded and followed him through the open door. Dean listened to Bobby's heavy footsteps as they plodded across the porch and down the stairs. Liv's made no sound in her soft, leather slippers.
"Okay. What happened?" Sam asked. He sat down in a chair across from the couch.
Dean shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't be a dick, Dean. You know what I'm talking about. Why is she leaving?" Sam demanded.
"It's just time," Dean answered. "Like she said."
"That's not a real answer and you know it."
Dean didn't say anything for a few minutes. He listened to Bobby and Liv talking outside, though he couldn't understand their words no matter how hard he focused.
"Dean," Sam prodded.
"She told me she loved me, Sammy," he finally answered.
"Whoa," Sam said. "That's pretty heavy stuff."
Dean just nodded.
"So, let me guess – she says she loves you, you don't answer, she gets mad and breaks up with you?"
"Not exactly," Dean said, his voice low and wounded.
"Then what?" Sam asked.
"I don't know. I just didn't know what to say."
Sam sighed. "Don't feel guilty for not loving someone, Dean. It's not your fault."
Dean's eyes blazed and he leaned forward, ignoring the pain in his leg.
"What if I do love her? What if I love her so much that I can't let her be around me anymore? Do you have any idea what would have happened if Bobby hadn't taken her to Jodi's? Do you know what that black-blooded monster would have done to her?" Dean chest heaved and he buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the same panic he'd felt in the hospital, when he'd first been confronted with the idea that she might be dead.
Sam was briefly silenced by Dean's sudden outburst.
"I know," he said, humbly, when Dean looked up. "They would have killed her."
"Exactly," Dean said. "Just like Bobby told me. I can't let that happen. You and I both know they'll be back. And, if not them, something else. She'll never be safe with me, Sammy. Never." He slumped back against the couch and ran his right hand across his mouth and chin.
Sam only nodded when Dean finished, agreeing.
Outside, one of the Jeep's doors slammed shut and the engine started with a loud, rumble. Dean cursed, wishing he'd taken the time to look under the hood before she left. Georgia was a long way off and he hoped Bobby reminded her to take it into a shop. They'd charge her out the ass but at least she'd be safe. He cut off the thoughts, sharply. They wouldn't help anyone.
"Are you sure this is what you want?"
Dean shook his head. "No. But that doesn't matter. She can't stay here. How many close calls do we have to go through before it gets a little too close and she gets hurt?" He shook his head again, more aggressively.
"Alright, if you say so," Sam said, standing. "I'm gonna go say goodbye before she leaves."
Dean watched him hurry toward the door and heard him descend the porch steps. Sam called Liv's name and Dean heard the car door open again. Turning his head, he could see through the front window as Sam and Liv came together and embraced. Sam lifted her up so that her feet hung several inches off the ground. When he set her down, she crawled back into the front seat as Sam reached through and gave Molly's head a good, vigorous rub.
Dean couldn't hear them but he saw their lips moving and Liv nod. He watched, wishing he could go out and tell her the truth or, at least, give her a hug of his own. He forced himself to look away as the Jeep began moving, rocks churning beneath its' tires. When he let himself look up, she was gone and only Sam and Bobby were left, frowning at each other in the unpaved driveway.