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Chapter Fourteen
Peyton rubbed a hand over her belly, looking up as Dean walked into the kitchen. He sighed, walking towards the coffeepot.
"She's still out."
Peyton nodded, then glanced up at Sam. Sam sighed, moving to sit beside Peyton and taking her hand, resting his other hand against her belly, smiling softly when the baby nudged his palm.
"Dean, we … We've been thinking."
Dean's lips quirked up in a small smile before he sighed. He turned around, lifting his mug to his mouth, speaking before he took a sip.
"I was afraid of that."
Peyton smiled, then let out a breath.
"What happened up there?"
Dean shook his head, sipping his coffee again as he walked to the table.
"I don't know. She's never done that with me. I mean, when she remembers something, it's kind of like it used to be when she'd get a premonition. She zones out, sometimes passes out. She gets a massive headache anytime she remembers something."
Peyton looked over to Sam with tears in her eyes. He leaned over and kissed her temple, holding his hand on her cheek. She shook her head, moving her face to his chest, and Sam sighed.
"It hurt her. Whatever she did up there, it … it hurt. And it was because—because of me."
Dean sighed, looking down into his cup. Sam leaned back to look at Peyton and took her hand again.
"We should go."
Green eyes flashed as Dean's head popped up. Sam sighed again.
"Classes are starting back soon. Peyt's got to get back to work, and I'm sure Leo could use the help."
Dean nodded slowly.
"So you … you just want to leave her?"
"Well… No. Not—not necessarily. Just give her a little space."
Peyton sniffled, finally able to speak.
"We know where she is. We can come back, or … or get her back home, maybe."
Dean nodded slowly again, then set his cup down in the sink. He licked his lips, then turned to face his brother and Peyton.
"Let me say this one time. I am not going anywhere."
"Dean—"
Sam stopped when he saw Dean lift a shaking hand.
"I thought … I thought I'd lost her. That she was gone and I'd never get a chance to see her or hold her or even talk to her ever again. But I was wrong. She's here. And as long as she's here, then I am, too."
"Dean—"
"Tell Leo that I'm sorry. But I have a weird feeling that he'll be okay with this."
"There's other people that you're leaving behind, you know."
Peyton jumped when Dean slammed his hands on the counter.
"Goddamn it, Peyton. I know. I hate that Kate will be there and I'll be here. But I am not going to leave Mel again. I won't."
"And you don't think you being here will hurt her?"
"Stop."
Peyton turned hurt eyes to Sam, who shook his head, standing up.
"Just stop."
Peyton closed her eyes, shaking her head and Dean turned away from them, putting his hands on his hips. Sam knelt in front of Peyton, taking both of her hands.
"Did you honestly think he'd willingly go with us?"
"I want to stay here with her."
"I know you do."
Sam lifted a hand to tuck some wayward curls behind Peyton's ear.
"But, sweetheart …"
Peyton shook her head as a tear slipped down her cheek.
"We've done nothing but hurt her since we got here."
Sam sighed, but nodded. Peyton closed her eyes, shaking her head again.
"I don't want her to feel like we're abandoning her or something."
"She won't."
Peyton and Sam glanced over to Dean, who let out a sigh.
"I won't let her. I'll tell her that you wanted to stay, but…"
He cleared his throat and Peyton nodded, another few tears slipping from her eyes.
"You tell her that I love her. Anything she wants to know, tell her. Or tell her to call me and I—I'll tell her."
Dean nodded, and Peyton sniffled, then leaned forward, resting her forehead on Sam's shoulder. He gently rubbed her back, until she lifted her head, sniffling and pushing her hair out of her face.
"Okay, then."
She stood up, holding one hand to her belly as she walked out of the kitchen. Sam and Dean shared a sigh, and Sam scratched the back of his head as he walked over to Dean.
"I, uh … I'll text you when I find us a flight."
Dean nodded, and Sam slowly sighed.
"You need to tell her."
"Sam."
"She has a right to know."
"Did you not see her an hour ago, writhing on the bathroom floor? Do you remember this?"
Dean pointed to the burn mark on his temple, and Sam sighed.
"So, yeah. That's a brilliant idea, for me to shove more information on her. Hell, maybe next time she'll just burst into flames."
"Dean."
"She's never burnt anything before, Sam. I don't know what that means. It scares the hell out of me, but what am I supposed to do? Leave her? Explain the whole convoluted family tree, and 'Oh, by the way, you've got magical powers that you use to kill demons. Yeah, even the Devil, because when you let him possess you, you ended up killing the both of you. Just wiping your existence from this world, until you miraculously showed up in good ol' NYC.'"
Sam closed his eyes, and Dean let out a laugh.
"Sure, college boy. Great idea."
"Shut up, you jackass. That's not what I meant, and you know it."
Dean rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. He let out a sigh, then looked to his brother.
"She knows."
Sam lifted an eyebrow, and Dean sighed.
"Well, she doesn't know that we were married."
"Are married."
Dean glanced down at his left hand, then made it into a fist.
"She doesn't know that far, but she knows that I love her. Apparently, I have a shitty poker face around her."
Sam smiled, nodding his head.
"You really do."
Dean sighed, lifting a hand to drag it over his face.
"She knows that I love her, because she asked and I couldn't lie to her. And I don't … I don't know. I don't want to force her to love me back. That's the last thing I want. But I—"
"Dean, she does. Even if she doesn't remember it, or if she can't express it, trust me. I can see it. She loves you, too."
Dean clenched his jaw, nodding his head. Sam reached over and gripped his shoulder.
"That's why I know you can't leave her. I never thought I'd be finding three plane tickets for the trip home. Not once."
Dean slid his eyes to his brother.
"Really?"
Sam smiled.
"Really. And Peyton knows it, too. It's just hard for her to focus right now. The emotions and the hormones and all."
Dean nodded, and Sam squeezed his shoulder again.
"If you need anything, you call. I don't care what time it is, all right? Fuck the time difference."
Dean smiled, nodding his head again. Sam nodded, letting go of Dean's shoulder and sliding his hands in his pockets. He got to the door and Dean sighed.
"Sammy."
Sam stopped and glanced back, keeping his smile to himself when Dean stepped forward and wrapped his arms around him. Sam closed his eyes, patting Dean's back.
"I love you too, Dean."
"Oh, get out of here. You big girl."
Sam laughed, shaking his head as he walked to the front door and slid his coat over his shoulders. He lifted a hand to Dean, then walked out the front door, where Peyton was waiting on the front steps for him.
Melinda woke in the middle of the night with a pounding head, her entire body aching. She felt cold and stiff, and she groaned as she pushed herself up in her bed. She held a hand to her head, fighting back tears as pain radiated through her body. She slowly stood up, keeping one hand along the wall as she slowly made her way to her door.
She didn't really know what she was doing. She didn't have a plan. She wasn't hungry, so she didn't think she was going to the kitchen. She certainly wasn't going outside. The kids were all asleep in their rooms, and Alex was asleep in his.
Melinda whimpered as she walked down the stairs, as each step seemed to thunder in her skull. She got to the bottom of the staircase and shivered, glancing to the couch and letting out a shaking breath. She slowly stumbled over, walking in front of the couch and seeing Dean there, still in his jeans and olive green Henley. His eyes were closed, arms loosely crossed over his flat abdomen. His boots were at the end of the couch, and his socked feet were crossed at the ankles.
Melinda swallowed, reaching to lay a hand on his shoulder. She stopped halfway there, when his hand reached up, gently taking hold of her wrist before he blinked his sleepy green eyes open.
"Mel?"
She gave a full-body shiver, and his eyes widened. She didn't say anything as he started to sit up, and he stopped, laying back on the couch as she gently climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, laying her head on his shoulder. Dean licked his lips, easily looping his arms around her. She shivered again, letting out a quiet groan as the warmth of his body seemed to soak into her skin, and she closed her eyes, as the pain in her skull finally began to let up.
Dean reached for the thick comforter he'd tossed over the back of the couch when he'd gotten too warm a few minutes earlier, draping it over the both of them. Melinda gave a quiet hum of satisfaction, and Dean closed his eyes, moving a hand to slowly card it through her hair as sleep overtook them both.
The house was just as she remembered seeing before. Old and big, at least two stories. The creepy-looking tree was in the front yard, bare branches reaching out for anything to grab onto.
The house was burning.
Melinda stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the window on the second floor, where she could see the orange glow of the flames eating through the house.
And he appeared in the window.
She was in the house before she could think, the force of the heat surrounding her making her close her eyes. It hurt, to be this close to the fire. But she had to find him. She had to get to him and get him out. She had to—
His hand closed over her wrist.
"Dean, you have to go. Get out of here."
"Mel, I love you."
She shook her head, pulling out of his grip, laying her hands against his chest.
"Please, go. Go outside as fast as you can. Don't look back."
They both blinked at the words that spilled from her lips, and Dean shook his head.
"Not without you."
There was a crash behind them, followed by another from somewhere in front of them. She looked up, meeting his eyes, and all of a sudden, absolute peace filled her from her head to her toes. He gave her a smile, reaching to cup her face in his hands.
"I love you."
Melinda gave him a smile, nodding her head.
"I love you, too."
He leaned forward, laying his lips on hers, and her hands slid up, cupping his elbows before her fingers drifted up his biceps. They continued to kiss as they both went to their knees, and Dean laid down on his back on the floor. Melinda laid beside him, curling close to his side, sliding her arm over his stomach. Dean swallowed, closing his eyes. Melinda listened to the crackle and roar of the fire surrounding them, and she moved to lay her head on Dean's shoulder, feeling the heat intensify as she closed her eyes.
Melinda gasped as her eyes flew open, but a soft murmur and gentle hands on her back made her relax.
"Go back to sleep, baby."
"Dean?"
"Everything's okay, sweetheart."
"Dean."
She turned her face to his chest, and his hand gently pushed through her hair. Tears soaked his shirt, but she didn't understand why she was crying.
"You're safe, Mel. I'm right here."
She tightened her hold on him, and he gently ran his hand up and down her back. Dean let out a groan, picking his hand up from her back before putting it right back.
"It's barely five, babe. Let's go to bed, okay?"
She nodded, sniffling before she slid off of him, curling up into a ball at the corner of the couch and breathing out roughly. Dean stood up, groaning and shifting, wincing when muscles pulled and bones popped. He stepped over and scooped Melinda into his arms, and she put her arms around his neck, burying her face where his neck met his shoulder. Dean closed his eyes for a moment, then carried her up the stairs, into her bedroom.
He set her on her bed, and she looked down, at the flannel pajamas she didn't remember putting on. She glanced up and Dean knelt in front of her. He gently pushed a piece of hair out of her face, letting his fingers drift over her cheek and forehead.
"Can you talk about it?"
She slowly shook her head, sniffling as she looked up at him.
"Just … don't leave me?"
Dean smiled, cupping her face in his hand.
"Never."
She nodded slowly, and Dean murmured to her, getting her to turn and lay down. The pillow was soft beneath her head, and she let out a breath of relief when he lay down next to her, sliding under the covers and rolling beside her. She blinked when the bare skin of his knee brushed against her fingertips, and Dean let out a quiet laugh.
"Jeans suck to sleep in."
"We should … get you some … pajamas."
Dean nodded.
"Tomorrow, maybe."
Melinda sniffled and nodded, letting out a sigh when Dean's fingers linked with hers.
"You can sleep, baby. It's all right."
Melinda closed her eyes and felt the tears come again. Dean slid forward, pressing his lips to her forehead, and she let out a stuttered sigh before she curled up next to him, fitting her body right alongside his. Dean put his arm around her, kissing her forehead again before resting his cheek on hers.
She didn't even mind the rasp of his stubble against her skin, and drifted to sleep with every aspect of Dean surrounding her.
Melinda woke up alone in her bed. She glanced at her clock, eyes widening when she saw that it was almost time for lunch. She walked to her bathroom, taking a long, hot shower. She blow-dried her hair and pushed her fingers through it, dressing in a pair of leggings and a long, oversized NYU sweatshirt. She put thick socks on her feet and didn't bother with any makeup. She slowly made her way downstairs, stopping when she saw Dean sitting across from someone she didn't recognize.
"Dean?"
Green eyes looked up, and a smile broke across Dean's face as he stood and walked over to her. He offered his hand and she took it as she walked down the last few steps, and he smiled as he took in her appearance, pushing her bangs back from her face.
"How you feeling?"
She smiled, reaching up and holding his hand to her cheek.
"I'm okay."
Dean smiled, leaning closer to her. He went still, almost as if he was remembering something, and stood up straight again. He cleared his throat, keeping hold of Melinda's hand and leading her to the living room.
"Mel, this is Scotty. Scotty, this is Melinda. She helps run this place."
The kid sitting on the couch just nodded his head. He hadn't moved from staring at his feet, and Melinda moved to sit on the coffee table in front of him. He sucked in a breath, speaking rapidly.
"Don't sit on the furniture."
Melinda glanced up at Dean, who shook his head, and she put a gentle smile on her face.
"It's okay if we sit on this furniture, Scotty. Alex doesn't mind."
Scotty shook his head.
"No, it … you'll mess it up."
"Oh, Alex doesn't worry about things like that. This place would probably be empty if it wasn't for me."
Scotty seemed to go still, and Melinda went on.
"I picked out most of this furniture, and the stuff I picked out is good and sturdy. Meant to be sat on and meant for kids to be rough on it. So it doesn't matter where you sit."
"I just don't want to mess anything up."
Melinda tilted her head.
"You won't. Not here."
Scotty let out a breath, lifting his head. Melinda's smile went even softer, and sad, when she took in the deep bruises around his dark eyes. He had scars on his face, and fresh cuts, some angry red and some that looked as if they just stopped bleeding. His eyes were dark and sad, his hair black and curly. He swallowed, shaking his head as tears filled his eyes.
"I had to go. I couldn't stay there, not one more minute."
"You've come to the right place."
"I don't … I don't have any money. I don't have anything but—"
He motioned towards the door, where a shiny black guitar was propped against the wall. Scotty sniffled and pushed his sleeve under his nose.
"I got that guitar for Christmas, and it's all I brought with me."
Melinda smiled.
"It's beautiful."
"Maybe you can get some money for it."
Melinda closed her eyes, then looked back to Scotty.
"Listen to me, okay? You don't need any money to stay here. You don't have to pay. You've got a warm place to stay, a comfortable bed to sleep in. We'll provide food for you. All you have to worry about is doing well in school. If you can't, or you don't want to, then we'll find you a job. How old are you, Scotty?"
He sniffled again.
"Fourteen."
Melinda smiled.
"Then you've got to go to school. The other kids in the House will help you. Alex and I will help you, if we can. It's been quite a while since we were in school, though."
Scotty actually smiled—just a tiny bit—and Melinda counted it as a win.
"You hungry?"
Scotty nodded, and Melinda stood to her feet, glancing up to see Dean propped against the doorframe. She gave him a smile, then spoke softly.
"I'll fix us some lunch, and you can come to the kitchen when you're ready, okay?"
Scotty nodded, and Melinda walked to Dean, sliding her arm around him, going up on her tiptoes to press her lips to his cheek, letting her arm slide across his abdomen as she went into the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later, Melinda jumped, letting out a laugh when hands landed on her hips.
"You've got to start making noise."
Dean laughed, squeezing her hips once, raising an eyebrow at the way she stumbled before she straightened and reached out for the bag of chips on the counter. She glanced back, and when she saw that they were alone, she raised an eyebrow. Dean smiled.
"Kid knocked on the door about an hour before you came down. Alex took the kids to … something somewhere, so it was just me here."
"Did you talk to him?"
"Scotty?"
Melinda nodded.
"Not much. He wouldn't really talk to me. Not until you came down."
"Did he talk to you when I came in here?"
Dean smiled, nodding his head.
"Little more. That's a sweet guitar."
Melinda smiled, turning back to cut the sandwiches she'd made.
"Do you play?"
Dean swallowed.
"Some."
Melinda turned to face him, a plate in each hand.
"You'll have to play for me sometime."
She stepped past him, and Dean closed his eyes, swallowing again, throat dry as the desert. He'd never played for her before. He barely played at all.
Dean was seventeen when he dropped out of school. He was borderline obsessed with James Dean, too cool to hang around his snot-nosed little brother, and Sam was just beginning to inch into teenage angst. Dean liked to test his limits with his father, and John wasn't exactly known for his patience. And John had enough of Dean when he disappeared for three entire days, too busy up Hailey Roberts' skirt in some backwoods Georgia town to pick up a phone.
When Dean finally did saunter back into the rundown rental house, smelling of booze and weed and sex, John didn't speak to him, except to tell him to take a shower and pack his shit. Dean slept in the backseat while John drove nonstop to Blue Earth, Minnesota, dropping Dean on Pastor Jim Murphy's doorstep. Sam threw a mighty fit to stay with Dean, and John ended up dropping Sam at Bobby's for the summer.
Dean had stood on the step in shock, watching the Impala's taillights fade in the dusk. Pastor Jim opened the door to let him in, walking out of the room and letting Dean have his space. Once Dean had broken a few chairs and a good many dishes from Pastor Jim's cabinets, the man stepped over to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.
"Come on, son. We need to have a long talk."
Dean found it easy to talk to the man, even if he was a priest. He explained that he was tired, but more than anything else, Dean was angry, and he didn't really know why. Pastor Jim had listened for hours, offering quiet comments when he needed to. By the end of the talk, Dean felt the burden on his shoulders was eased just a bit, and the weight lightened even more over the course of the summer.
Pastor Jim had gone to the local music store, buying a secondhand guitar and handing it to Dean, telling him he had lessons set up every Thursday. And honestly, that turned out to be the best thing Jim could have done.
Dean hadn't picked up a guitar in years, but his fingers were suddenly itching. He walked into the living room, where Melinda and Scotty were sitting on the couch, talking quietly as they ate. Dean stepped further into the room, and Melinda smiled as she laid a hand on Scotty's shoulder before she stood and walked over to Dean. Dean had to bend over to hear her whisper.
"I'd made you a plate, but the kid was starving. I'll make you another sandwich and you can eat with us in here."
Dean nodded, smiling as she walked into the kitchen. He cleared his throat, walking over to the couch, eyeing the guitar leaning against the wall. Scotty caught his eye, and Dean nodded.
"You play?"
Scotty sighed, shaking his head.
"My mom said I was supposed to take lessons or something, but she took off. I don't know …"
Scotty sighed again, and Dean swallowed.
"I could teach you some things."
"Really?"
Dean nodded, trying not to focus on the hope in the boy's eyes. He walked over to the guitar, picking it up and walking back over, sitting in the chair across from the couch. He put the guitar on his lap, running his fingers along the gleaming black body, gently plucking each string. He put the guitar in the proper position, plucking the strings again and tuning the guitar.
"What do you play?"
Dean smiled as he strummed the instrument.
"Classic rock, man. You got a pick?"
Scotty dug in his pocket, pulling out a lime green pick. Dean smiled and nodded at him as he took the pick in his hand, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, playing a few chords and making a few adjustments in his tuning. He lifted his head, giving Scotty a smile.
"This is one of my all-time favorite songs."
He held his fingers on the strings, feeling the weight of the guitar on his leg and he closed his eyes. All of a sudden, he was seventeen again, with the weight of the world on his shoulders—except when he held a guitar. His fingers found the chords on their own, embedded into his memory long, long ago, and just like when he was seventeen, everything seemed to melt away.
Melinda set the bread aside, narrowing her eyes when music suddenly filled the quiet of the house. She walked back to the living room, stopping hard in the door way of the kitchen when she heard Dean's voice singing softly, just loud enough the be heard over the sound of him strumming the guitar.
"I pulled into Nazareth,
Was feelin' 'bout half past dead.
I just need to find a place
Where I can lay my head.
Hey, mister, can you tell me
Where a man might find a bed?
He just grinned and shook my hand,
"No," was all he said.
Take a load off, Annie.
Take a load for free.
Take a load off, Annie.
And
You put the load,
You put the load
Right on me."
He opened his eyes, locking on Melinda's. Her blue eyes were soft as she leaned against the doorframe, and she gave him a sweet smile.
"Don't stop. Please?"
Dean swallowed, giving her a smile, and he nodded. He just played for a minute, because he couldn't bear to bring himself to sing the next verse. He rolled through the lyrics in his mind, then picked up again.
"Go down, Miss Moses,
There's nothin' you can say.
It's just old Luke,
And Luke's waitin' on the Judgment Day.
Well, Luke, my friend,
What about young Anna Lee?
He said, "Do me a favor, son.
Won't you stay and keep
Anna Lee company?"
Take a load off, Annie.
Take a load for free.
Take a load off, Annie.
And
You put the load,
You put the load
Right on me."
Later, she'd say that was the moment that she knew. When he sat there with a scared little boy in front of him and quietly sang a song that none of them really knew the meaning of. When he closed his eyes and let his fingers tell the story through a beautiful, steady melody, before his voice rang out clear and true. When he wasn't worried or thinking too hard, when he didn't have to be anyone's anything and he could just close his eyes and let the music flow through him.
That was the moment she knew she loved him.
He found her in the kitchen, standing at the counter with a half-made, forgotten sandwich in front of her. Her hands were resting near the plate where the sandwich sat, and her head was bowed. He cleared his throat and saw her shake her head.
"Mel—"
"You never played for me before."
Dean swallowed, stopping just inside the door, beside the refrigerator.
"No, I—I didn't."
"Why not?"
He blinked, and when he could speak, his voice was quiet and thick.
"I was too busy."
She lifted her head, turning to look at him, and he could see the storm in her eyes. The confusion, a little bit of hurt. She shook her head.
"I don't understand this."
She lifted her eyes to his, shaking her head again.
"Why it hurts."
Dean pushed off from the doorframe, walking over and wrapping her in his arms. She put her face in his chest, closing her eyes and just breathing him in. He felt her shaking hands pressing against his back, and he closed his eyes, holding her as close and as tightly as he could.
Dean let out a breath when he heard the front door open, and he opened his eyes to see Alex come to a stop inside the kitchen. He blinked, raised an eyebrow, and Dean shook his head. He cleared his throat.
"There's a new kid in the living room. Scotty."
"I'll take care of it. Get the kids to give you some space."
Dean nodded, gently rubbing his hand up and down Melinda's back. When Alex had walked away, Melinda pulled away from Dean, keeping his hand in hers, sliding her feet into her shoes by the door and leading him outside.
Dean let out a harsh breath when the frigid air seemed to slap him in the face.
"Shit, it's cold."
Melinda let out a laugh, shaking her head. She kept holding his hand, leading him over to the back porch swing. She went to sit and he stopped her, sitting himself instead, feeling the cold seep through his jeans, then pulled her down onto his lap. She smiled, but sat anyway, leaning into him as the wind blew, chilling them both.
She was the one to break the quiet.
"How long have we been together?"
Dean blinked. That was not what he was expecting her to say. He cleared his throat.
"Si—five years. Since you were … since you were twenty-two."
Melinda nodded.
"And you were?"
Dean smiled.
"Twenty-seven."
"Old man."
Dean laughed, brushing her hair back from her face. She studied his face, cataloging the freckles across his nose and cheeks, and how the hair that made up his beard was an oddly-reddish color. How his eyes were the color of Granny Smith apples, how his lips could almost be described as "bee-stung," but would definitely be painfully chapped if he kept licking them.
"We were happy … weren't we?"
It didn't really sound like a question. She just wanted affirmation that what she was thinking was true. Dean closed his eyes, but nodded.
"For the most part."
His eyes opened, green and pleading.
"Mel, I was … I was a real idiot."
She leaned forward, closing her eyes as she rested her forehead against his. Dean let out a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Her soft, cool hands came up to cup his face, thumbs dragging through his beard.
"That doesn't matter now."
"It does. Mel, it does matter."
"Shh. No. It doesn't."
Tears were welling up behind his closed eyelids, and panic was starting to flutter through his chest. Her lips pressed ever-so-gently against his cheek, and he let out a choked sob.
"Mel—"
"Shh, Dean. It's okay."
He tightened his hold on her, as her lips slowly moved across his cheek. He could feel her breath against his lips, and when he spoke, it was barely a whisper.
"I … I'm still an idiot."
She smiled softly.
"Okay. But you're my idiot."
Dean felt his heart shatter as she laid her lips against his. Her gentle hands on his face, the weight of her on his lap, the taste of her kiss brought his world to a screeching halt and he could barely breathe. She seemed to sense this, and she moved to kiss his forehead, climbing off his lap and crouching beside him. She took both of his hands and gently squeezed.
Dean took his hands from her and pushed them through his hair. God, he couldn't breathe. There was no air, and somewhere in his mind, he knew they were outside. Plenty of air around, right?
"Come on, honey. Breathe."
Dean gasped as he shook his head, and Melinda reached out, grabbing hold of his hand. She didn't keep her hand still in his, but kept her hand moving, squeezing, threading their fingers together, trailing her palm over the back of his hand.
"Dean. Hey, hey, hey. Talk to me. Come on, talk to me."
He let out another gasp, reaching out and taking hold of her face.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"I'm so sorry."
"Why?"
He didn't answer, twitching his fingers on her jaw and giving a gentle pull. She went easily, sighing as their mouths met. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and she let out a quiet moan as his hands slid down, pulling her up and onto his lap again. Her nails scratched through the beard on his face, and he moved to kiss his way down her neck. She gasped and held his face, then pulled away to bring his lips back to hers.
All around them, the snow was melting, and a frigid drop of water fell from the roof, sliding down the back of Dean's shirt. He let out a yelp and arched forward, catching Melinda as she bobbled on his lap. He glanced down at her, taking in the sight of how flushed her face was, the way her lips were swollen from his kiss. Her eyes were heavy and dark, and he swallowed, lifting a hand to brush her bangs out of her eyes.
"I never thought I'd see this again."
Her lips curved into a smile at his murmured words. She reached up, skating her fingers over his plump lips.
"I'm glad you're here."
Dean leaned down, kissing her again, slowly and gently, until she shivered in his arms. He pulled back and smiled at her, brushing her hair back from her face again.
"Come on. Let's go in where it's warm."
Melinda nodded, standing up and pushing her hair behind her ears, blushing furiously. Dean laughed to himself, standing up and laying a hand against her lower back as they walked inside.
"They're leaving, aren't they?"
Dean glanced up, cup of coffee halfway to his lips.
"What?"
Melinda let out a sigh, then walked over and sat in the chair beside him, pulling her legs up under her.
"Peyton and … Sam. They're gone, aren't they?"
Dean sighed, taking a sip from his mug, then setting it on the table in front of him.
"Yeah, babe. They're gone."
Melinda looked down at her hands, nodding her head. Dean ran a hand over his hair and licked his lips.
"Sammy's starting classes again soon, and Peyton's got a job at this salon thing, so they had to get home."
Melinda smiled.
"I get it. They've got lives to get back to. I didn't think they'd just stay here, you know? I knew they'd have to go back, but …"
She shrugged a shoulder, and Dean leaned closer to her.
"It's not because of you."
She nodded slowly, biting her bottom lip.
"That's not very convincing."
Dean sighed.
"All right, it scared Peyton. And she felt responsible."
Melinda lifted her head, blue eyes troubled when she looked at Dean.
"It scared me, too. I've never done that before. It was … agonizing, Dean."
He nodded his head, and she winced as she reached a hand up to her head.
"Just thinking about it makes my head hurt."
He reached across the table, taking her other hand in his. She shivered at his touch, the way she always did, then seemed to lean closer to him.
"Don't think about it."
Melinda nodded, blinking her eyes open. She gave him a smile, and he watched it disappear as her brows furrowed.
"What happened to your head?"
Dean's eyes widened just a bit, and he hissed out a breath as her fingers softly touched the burn on his temple. Her mouth was open just a bit, staring at the mark on his skin.
And he had a terrifying vision of her closing up, cutting him and everyone else off, blaming herself. It only lasted a millisecond, but after losing her once, Dean couldn't bear even the thought of it happening again.
He reached out, smiling softly as he took her hands.
"Got a little too close to Peyton when she was using her curling iron upstairs. Ironically, this is not the first time this has happened."
Melinda raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling.
"Peyton had a curling iron upstairs?"
Dean nodded.
"She was thinking about curling your hair for you."
Melinda slowly nodded, gently turning his face and studying the burn.
"Let me get a little something to put on there."
"I'm fine, Mel."
"Humor me."
Dean swallowed and nodded, fighting down the feeling of utter loathing that was crawling up his spine. He cleared his throat, and Melinda walked back beside him, sitting on her knees in the chair next to him and gently rubbing some kind of cooling ointment on the burn. Dean closed his eyes as she gently blew on it before leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, and he turned his head to see her smiling at him.
"There. You'll be good as new."
Dean smiled, reaching to drag his fingers down her arm.
"I think I've got another hurt place."
Melinda smiled, eyes dancing.
"Somewhere I need to kiss and make it better?"
He nodded, and she raised an eyebrow, laughing out loud when he pointed to his lips. She cupped his face in her hands, then gently pressed her mouth to his. Dean smiled when she let out a quiet sigh, and he pulled back to kiss her nose. She smiled at him, gently patting his cheek before she stood up and left the kitchen.
Dean hung his head, pushing a hand through his hair, then dragging it down his face. He was doing the right thing. He knew that he was.
He just had to keep telling himself that.
Quick Author's Note here: The song Dean sings is "The Weight," by The Band, just in case you didn't know. Jensen's said that it's one of his favorite songs, and it's one of mine, too. It's a good little confusing song. If you haven't heard Jensen sing "The Weight," you need to march on over to YouTube and watch it now. My favorite version is the one from the Jus In Bello con from 2010. That's what I based the guitar scene on for this chapter. Hope you liked it!