Author's Note: Hope you enjoy.

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The motel room was, as always, small, cramped, musty, and less than spotless. But then, they always were. This place would do as well as any other, and it had been the closest. Sam stumbled through the open door, not because he was supporting his brother's weight, but because Dean was consistently attempting to throw off his assisting arm.

Sam!" he snapped for the millionth time,

"I'm fine. Get off me!" he exclaimed, finally ducking free of the encircling limb and plunking down onto the first available bed unceremoniously.

Reggie brought up the rear behind the two brothers, loaded down with their gear, her exhausted arms and sore back aching under the burden, and her lips twitching helplessly as she listened to the familiar sound of the brothers' bickering. She focused in on it, trying to fend off the persistent ripples of old despair which, having been awakened by her encounter with Ronnie, refused to sink back into the dark, seething sea of disquiet which brooded threateningly in her mind. Usually she could drown the humming vibrations which rose now, a discordant harmony of warning. Curb the shadow of her past, keep the stain from spreading and colouring her vision. But she was having trouble silencing the doubt and the fear that had risen to encircle the tiny light that Dean's kiss had sparked. As always, she faltered, hearing the voice of mistrust, her father in her head. Misgivings rose to strangle her hope, there would be no happy endings here. They were a cruel fantasy. There was only the heady, destructive promise of the whirlwind, a firestorm of passion that would devour and destroy her, or a solitary cell inside her own mind. That certainty nipped at her vulnerable heart, herding it back into its cage, a voluntary isolation with bars of suspicion and fear. She couldn't stop herself from caring, but she could stop it from being more than that. Or at least, as long as she clung to that belief, she could stay sane.

She heard Sam launch into yet another lecture about carelessness and overconfidence, and not having the sense God gave a turnip, and shouldn't Dean at least know when it was time to admit he was injured and needed a little help. Reggie towed the bags into the room and dropped them, keeping quiet. She knew Sam wasn't really angry. He'd been scared to death, and completely unable to do a damn thing, hamstrung, stranded at the cemetery, left to imagine the worst after the silent phone call. His mad was just a cover, as her own earlier outburst had been. Even if it hadn't been a classic human behaviour, to cover concern with contempt, she could feel the worry and the relief buried behind his ire. She sank gratefully into a chair, and watched the fun. Sam was trying to get a good look at Dean's head wound, and having absolutely no luck, because the splitting headache that begun to throb behind Dean's eyes the moment he woke up in the orchard, and grown steadily since then, made him one ornery sonofabitch. And Sam told him so in no uncertain terms, as Dean continued to complain and swat at Sam's gentle hands, whenever they got near the nasty gash that slashed across the back of his head, just above where his dark blond hair met the skin of his neck.

"Damnit Dean!" Sam was out of patience,

"You could have a concussion you stubborn ass! And since we can't take you to the hospital, you've got to let me have a look."

Dean growled at his brother and bared his teeth against the pain. At first, as always, the adrenaline, not to mention the sexual tension, had helped to keep the agony at bay, but that hadn't lasted long. By the time they'd reached the cemetery, and a near apoplectic Sam, his vision was beginning to blurr. Now it felt as though there were knives in his eyes, and razor sharp shards of glass rolling around in his skull. Every movement caused their wicked, biting edges to slice into him anew.

"Dean", Reggie's voice soothed rather than agitated his sore head.

"Let me see" she commanded, coming up beside the bed. Her golden eyes locked onto his hazel-green ones, and held.

Her gift wasn't much use against physical pain, but sometimes she could help. The mental, emotional and physical were closely enough entangled in the complex entities that are human beings, that sometimes she could affect one by affecting the other.

But she didn't just jump right in, she was waiting, asking, for his permission first.

He didn't have to nod, she could feel him open, just a tiny chink in the armour, but it was enough. She slipped in, deliberately blind to the dark, harrowing corridors in his mind and heart that she had no doubt led to places and feelings he would rather neither she, nor anyone else, explored. Instead she focused on the nexus of tension and strain that was tightening the web of muscles in his skull, and squeezing the nerves beneath in a merciless vice. It was a simple thing, to smooth away that stress, to ease the last tingling vestiges of guilt and worry that lingered after the hunt. She felt him sigh and relax.

Stepping back, she'd never even touched him, Reggie gave Sam a tired smile.

"Go ahead and have a look" she told him,

"He's alright now."

Sam raised his eyebrows, wondering what in the hell had just passed silently between Reggie and Dean, and what in the hell had occurred in the orchard that would make his oh so cautious brother trust her enough to use her gift on him. But he didn't complain, Dean undoubtedly looked more at ease, and he didn't protest, well, not seriously, when Sam finally brushed aside his hair and got a good look at the gash.

It was long and pretty deep, and had bled like a bitch, as all head wounds did, soaking the back of Dean's grey tee-shirt, but all in all, it wasn't as bad as he had feared. It had already clotted and scabbed over, which was a damn good thing because having to dress the awkwardly placed wound on an unwilling Dean was not the way he'd planned to spend his evening. Sam silently thanked God, Dean had always been a quick healer. Grabbing his flash light, he shone the beam directly into Dean's eyes, dodging the blow his brother aimed at him and wincing at his blistering curses, but also smiling with relief, when both of Dean's pupils contracted smoothly and evenly against the harsh light.

"Sam, you bastard" moaned Dean, covering his abused eyes with his hands.

"Sorry Dude" said Sam,

"Had to be sure. As it is, we should probably keep tabs on you tonight. Just to be safe."

"Whatever" mumbled Dean, tugging his ruined shirt over his head and toeing off his shoes. With out bothering to remove anymore of his clothing, he lay back in the bed and tugged the covers over his tired, battered, body.

Reggie rolled her sore shoulders and gave Sam a small smile,

"I'll take first watch" she told him, settling fully clothed on the bed, face to face with the already sleeping Dean.

Sam nodded. It was nice, to know there was someone else out there who cared about his mule-headed brother the way Dean deserved.

Dean's wound was unpleasant, but hardly enough to keep him down or interfere with the regular routine of his nightly vigil so, when he awoke an our later with his head still screaming, he was hardly surprised. He took deep breaths and tired to ease away some of the painful tension in his head by very deliberately relaxing each muscle in his body, beginning with those in his jaw and neck, and moving slowly downward, until he reached his feet. It sort of worked. It gave him enough relief to allow him to open his eyes an do a quick survey of the room. He could hear Sam snoring behind him, and Reggie was stretched out on her side across from him, head pillowed on her folded hands, her still clothed body lying on top of the covers, her deep, even breathing signifying her exhaustion. His hand had lifted in an automatic gesture, reaching for her, when the sudden chirp of Sam's watch, lying beside her head, made his whole body jerk with surprise and sharp, stabbing needles of pain streaked through his skull.

Grumpily, he snatched up the offending appliance and silenced it. Sam shifted and muttered in the bed behind him, before settling once more into sleep. In front of him, Reggie's eyelids fluttered, as her body fought to surface from the sleep it so badly needed.

"Hey" he murmured, his deep voice a soothing rumble,

"Go back to sleep honey. You need it."

"Hurt. Gotta keep an eye on you" she mumbled, eyes opening just a fraction, her body twitching.

"It's okay." He quieted her.

"I'm okay", and taking advantage of her semi-conscious state, he reached out to trace a finger across the silken skin of her cheek. He told himself he only meant the touch to clam her, help to ease her back into sleep.

It was a lie. He had never had someone, well, someone other than Sam, who cared about him. But here she was, his little warrior, doing her best to keep an eye on him, even though she'd already drained herself doing God knows what to save him earlier that night.

The small caress had her sighing, and turning her head to follow the warmth of his stroking fingertips.

It was only a small thing, but it made an uncomfortable fist of need clench in his belly. A need that he was afraid had become so much more complicated, involved wanting so much more, than just the physical.

Opening his hand, Dean allowed himself the luxury of cupping her face in his palm, of seeing those golden eyes watching him, for once, while he touched her, even though her heavy-lidded look told him she wasn't really awake, that she was caught somewhere between dream and reality. And he couldn't help himself, he was going to take advantage, just a little bit.

Shifting in the bed to bring them closer together, he let the hand holding her face slide around the back of her head, urging her toward him with gentle pressure. As always, she came easily. The difference being that this time, he could really see her, drown himself in the amber depths of her eyes while she came to him. His big, hard hands swept over her, molding her against the lower half of his body, and caressing their way up her back. One banded around her waist and the other cradled her neck. His thumb brushed over her full lower lip. She murmured incoherently, her voice husky with drowsy arousal, and his heart leapt painfully, when she reached for him in turn. She settled fully against him, core to core, heat to heat, when she instinctively made room for him between her legs. His tortured groan was almost silent, threading its way between teeth clenched tightly against the brutal onslaught of lust. Her movements were languid, maddeningly slow but seeking, seeking him. His heat. His lips. He kept his eyes open, locked onto hers, those dreamy, half-lidded, shimmering pools of gold, when her mouth finally whispered over his.

It was barely anything, the barest brush of her lips, but still his body reacted as though a high voltage current had just been run though it. Every nerve ending sparked painfully to life. Somewhere in the back of his head, a little voice was telling him that this was wrong, wrong, wrong. That he was hurt and not thinking clearly, and that he was still all charged up over what had happened in the orchard. Still aching with the knowledge that this woman could take him places no other would. Places he had to admit, he wasn't sure he wanted to go. Wasn't sure he could allow himself to go. And that he was the worst kind of bastard, to exploit her when she was essentially unaware. But right now, in this minute, he was beyond caring. After all, he wasn't kissing her, she was kissing him.

Same difference, said the voice. It's the same as this afternoon, she still doesn't know what she's doing. And we both know that if she was really awake, she wouldn't be doing it! But Dean ignored it. When Reggie's mouth returned, her lips rubbing slowly over his a second time, her hands curling invitingly against the hot, bare skin of his chest, he gave her what he knew she wanted. Opening his mouth, Dean caught the full, soft flesh of her lower lip gently between his teeth, biting her with fierce restraint. She let out a tiny moan at the contact. Her hands rose, her fingertips running up his stubbled jaw and sinking deeply into his thick, soft hair. Not even the small tug and answering flicker of pain from his wounded scalp could distract him. His entire being was focused on the place where his mouth was tangled with hers. Dragging teeth and tongue gently across her captive flesh he released her, tightening his grip and bending his head to take her mouth more fully.

And then she said his name.

"Dean."

The little sigh, breathed against his lips, stopped him cold.

What in the hell was he doing?!

He couldn't have her when she was awake, so he figured he'd ambush her when she was asleep? Have her so wound up that by the time she awoke, she wouldn't be able to say no?

No. He fended off the blistering attack of his conscience with the honest admission that it hadn't been that calculated, he hadn't planned a seduction, but had rather, had been seduced. By the sweet, chaste kiss of an unknowing slip of a girl who didn't really want him. He was tired, and, though he hated to admit it, somehow defenseless against her. There was a promise of possibilities with her, of what could never be, that he found intoxicating. It was also why she was so dangerous to him. She tested his self-control like no other woman he had ever known. He couldn't sleep with her, no matter how much he wanted to, because that's not all it would be.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her, she had fallen fully back into sleep while he wagged his inner war, and was still curled trustingly in his arms. And that was the biggest obstacle right there. Her trust. It was like a noose around his neck, because he'd rather die than have her look at him as she had those first few weeks. Like he was dangerous, some kind of monster.

It was hearing his name on her lips that had ultimately stopped him. And no matter what other excuses he gave, now that he'd broken free from the heat of the moment, it hadn't been his logic, which knew all the reasons why this would be bad, for him, for her, nor his sterling morals, that had stopped him.

When she'd said it, that little breathy "Dean", he'd heard the pulse of desire in her voice, and the sleep. And the truth was, if he ever lost his mind enough to allow this thing to happen between them, he wanted her wide awake and aware, of him and of herself, when she said his name like that. He wanted to see it clearly in her golden eyes, not only her desire, but understanding. He wanted her to sigh and moan and scream, his name, knowing, that it was he who touched her, who made her feel that. And he wanted her to want him enough to come to him hot and willing, to abandon herself to him. To trust him completely. And he knew that there was something that held her back, that same something, a darkness, that he'd caught a flash of in her eyes tonight. The beautiful, sensual, sexual woman Dean sensed within her, the woman who, asleep, promised him fire hot enough to singe his soul, whose body sang a siren's song that ravaged his senses and beckoned him, tempted him, unmercifully, was somehow imprisoned inside the cool shell Reggie presented to the world. And he wanted to know why.

Yeah, somewhere along the line, it had become about way more than just sex.

"Fuck!" Dean whispered, and with his heartfelt curse echoing in the still room, he lay his head on the pillow and tried to sleep, Reggie still hugged tightly in his arms because, in spite of everything, he just couldn't seem to let her go. It scared the hell out of him.

Further Note: I know I am a bitch to keep teasing you like this, but it's part of thier journey. I'm sorry, don't hate me.