Hey guys. I'm baaaack! Phew! Only one major paper left and counting. I get to have a life again, horray! Sorry to have disappeared for so long, and at such an inopportune time. Anyway, without further ado, let's see if Dean can't fix his latest mess. Enjoy!
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He had expected there to be ramifications. And, judging by the cold finality in Reggie's voice when she'd shut the bathroom door in his face, he'd expected them to be negative. He'd assumed that, at the very least, they'd return to the careful cat and mouse game that had dominated the early weeks of their acquaintance. Where Reggie would watch him with wary eyes and run for her life if he came within a few feet of her. But that was not what had happened. She ignored it. It was literally as though that uncomfortable morning had never happened. It wasn't as though she was all over him, or had ever touched him with the easy affection she showed to Sam, but, there was no strain either. Dean watched in silent amazement over the next day, while Reggie took denial to a whole new level. However, despite her best efforts, there was now something in the air between them that rang sharply false. The affable, comfortable, casual relationship she was projecting had never existed. There had never been a time when the hovering promise, desire, for more, hadn't lent an edge of tension to even their most basic interactions.
Dean felt it, the death of the possibilities he'd been so bound and determined not to consider, like a blow. He knew what was happening. For the first time, Reggie was treating him just like everyone else. She was kind, she was sweet, she was concerned, in an impersonal, teeth-gnashingly pleasant kind of way. This wasn't, 'what I feel about you scares the bejesus out of me so I'm keeping my distance', or a piqued 'you're such an ass' kind of distance. This was 'I don't care enough to be bothered avoiding you, or even to be angry'. She was gone, suddenly as far beyond his reach as the stars. And Dean didn't like it. Not one little bit. He fought to keep it from showing. It was foolish, ridiculous, he was overeacting, but knowing that didn't ease the blind, desperate, throbbing panic. The loss that squeezed his lungs in a vice of fear until he could barely breath, or the dark shroud that settled over his heart, as though mourning its last change to live rather than just pump blood to limbs that moved through an endless routine of seek and destroy.
Clenching his jaw and clamping down hard on the wheel of the Impala as he drove them away from Houma, Dean told himself it was for the best. He'd been getting in way over his head. Circling far to close to a fire that had already burned him. That he knew could consume him. One that he was doing a piss poor job of avoiding because he couldn't put a leash on his baser desires, no matter how loudly his up-stairs brain told him to. The problem was, even if he knew he could never have anything more, anything real with Reggie, and he did, he knew it. He knew that loving her would destroy who he was, would demand of him things he couldn't give without self-destructing what was left of his soul, he still wanted to go back. Even though they could never share a life, or even their bodies, he wanted to see her smile at him in that nervous, questioning kind of way that was all for him, when she caught him staring at her.
Surely they could at least have that, surely he was due this one small thing. He would gladly take the gift of her friendship, since anything else was impossible. But he was terribly afraid that he had, as he always did, screwed things royally. And he didn't know how to make it better. To tell her that he understood what it meant to have secrets so dark and so defining, that even the possibility of showing someone else that part of you was literally, a fate worse than death. That was how he felt. He wondered what she would think of him if she knew how many lives it had taken, how many people had been lost, in order for him to be standing here today.
But he was pretty sure Reggie's secret was different. He was sure that whatever she was hiding, whatever fatal flaw she seemed so hell bent on concealing, it didn't really belong to her at all, but rather someone else. If she would only trust him enough to let him help. Of course, the irony of the whole situation was not lost on Dean. He of all people should have understood what it meant to live in a world where the shaky outline of reality was defined by what you made people believe, as opposed to what was true. He knew what it was to need that protective cloak of lies, how it kept the truth from eating at you, as well as others. But he wanted to tell her that he could protect her far better than all those walls she had built up around herself, that they were as much her prison as her refuge. But of course, she already knew that, just as he knew it.
As much as he wanted to be the one to save her, she wasn't a princess who'd been locked in a tower by an evil witch. She had willingly closed the door, climbed the stairs, and buried the key herself. She wanted him out, all the way out, and even though he understood perfectly the game she was playing, he had no choice but to head her wishes. If for no other reason than he respected her right to lock him out. He would do as she silently demanded and leave it alone, at least for now. But he would wait, and watch, and eventually, she was going to let him into that secret world. He couldn't leave her like that, not when he knew so well what it was to be locked into a dungeon of your own making. An identity that was both your salvation and your damnation. There was no escape for him, but Reggie, Reggie was worth saving, and even if it wasn't his normal gig, save her was exactly what he was going to do. And it made Dean uneasy, that he cared so much.
He'd spent a lifetime learning to keep people at arm's length. He had lived his whole life in a world where there were only three constants. Sam, his father, and him. Everything, everyone else, could be no more than a temporary time marker. It wasn't that they didn't matter, it was that he couldn't afford to let them. But still, though they were often nameless, Dean remembered every single one of them. Every person he'd saved, every girl he'd touched, they stood out in his mind, the little human interludes that kept his soul anchored firmly to his body, even though they only appeared for a brief moment, immediately swallowed and swept away in tide of fear, adrenaline and danger that demanded and enforced isolation. But Reggie had broken all the rules. In all honesty, he'd never been as intimate with a woman in all is life as he was with her. She'd been with them just over two months and she'd already saved his hide and his soul. She knew things that no one else did, that no one else could, and every night, she slept in his arms.
Dean couldn't conceal his smile. She had underestimated him. She was used to being the one holding the cards. Her gift gave her an undeniable advantage. Usually, she knew more about you and how you felt, than you did. But not this time. She might think that she was in control of the situation, but she didn't know what he knew. She didn't know how well she fit him, or how she clung to him in the night. He knew she'd already made her choice. The cool façade she was projecting now was just that, another mask. If, that next night, she'd balked, if he hadn't awakened with his arms full of her, he might have believed otherwise. But he had, and she was wrapped around him so tightly he couldn't help but think that it was as if she was trying to make up for the hell she'd put him through earlier that day. And the shaky, tremblely feeling around his heart had eased. She wasn't really rejecting him, the easy flow of her body following his when he rolled onto his back told him that somewhere beyond the influence of her waking mind, there was a part of Reggie that already trusted him, and that part of her needed his help.
That knowledge put Dean in the driver's seat, even if she didn't know it. Settling into the mattress and stroking the thick, soft mass of Reggie curls away from where they were tickling his nose, Dean did what he did best, he formulated his plan of attack. First, he would have to convince her that he wasn't a threat, and to do that, he'd have to get a hold of himself. Losing his cool and jumping her would get him nowhere. She had only felt the sensual blaze of their passion in her dreams. But for Dean, it was all a torturous reality. One that he had to resist, at all costs.
If he really wanted to help her, he was going to have to do what he'd promised himself, and just be her friend, because for once in his life, Dean knew, he knew that Reggie wasn't going to leave him. But one day, one day soon, he would have to leave her, and if he took that final step and let himself have her, he wasn't sure either of them would survive the separation, but he was damn sure neither of them would survive it if he stayed. So, he would avoid having to make that choice by keeping his goddamned distance. His father had been made a hunter by tragedy, as had his brother. Only Jessica's death had truly set Sam's feat on the path of vengeance. In the end, it had been he who walked most closely beside their father. Dean was different. Dean hadn't been made a hunter by hate, but by love. It was how he had protected the remains of his family, how he ensured that no other would ever suffer what they had. When the demon was gone, Sam would return to the normal world and live his normal life. But hunting wasn't what Dean did, not like Sam, not like his father, a Hunter, was what Dean was. And hunter's didn't have homes, or wives, or families. Dean didn't have Reggie, and for both their sakes, it had better stay that way, because one way or another, a hunter walked alone.
It was hard. Far harder than Reggie had anticipated, to force herself to treat Dean as though he barely mattered. The attempt drove home to her how many little habits and intimacies she'd slipped into without really noticing. For example, she hadn't really realized how the first thing she did when she woke up in the morning was look for him, smile at him, and wait for him to smile in return. She hadn't realized that she anticipated the moment when, one way or another, she would catch him staring, and she would feel the slow heat of his caressing gaze before they both looked away. When she went into the bathroom, his things were scattered everywhere, mingled and strew among her own. And that made her smile because, much to Sam's dismay, Reggie had so not turned out to be the stereotypical girl roommate he'd been hoping for. She was at least as messy as Dean, though she did wash and fold her clothes regularly. There was the way he always, even after all this time, muttered about how anyone could drink "that stuff" even as he handed her her morning cup of green tea, which he'd probably had to go to three different places to find. And the way he was already reaching for her bag before she'd even begun to push it towards him as she made her way out to the Impala. Easily grabbing the heavy duffle she was lugging with one hand and tossing into the back seat in a move that spoke of familiarity and comfortable routine.
In short, Reggie had completely missed the moment when Dean Winchester had become a valued part of her life, instead of a temporary, largely unwelcome, guest.
But she did manage, just barely, to hold herself aloof when he did smile, to inject a subtle hint of coolness and distance into her words. To empty her actions and her eyes of that tiny zing of awareness that made every word and every touch count. And she felt hollow the whole time. Hollow and cruel. As she watched, on that first day, his reaction. First there was confusion, which flared into anger, and then flitted through panic and hurt. When she'd slid into their shared bed and felt the tension radiating off him, looked into his eyes and seen the confusion and the worry, she'd closed her eyes and prayed that he gave in quickly, because that wounded look, knowing that she'd put it there, was killing her. It was his worst fear, she knew, being left, being abandoned, and she hated herself for using it against him. Turning away so that he wouldn't see how tightly she had to squeeze her eyes against the tears that threatened, she'd nearly choked on the guilt. But there was no other way to protect herself, and him. He thought he wanted to know, that the truth wouldn't matter, but she knew that it would.
The next day was different. All of a sudden Dean had rebounded from wounded puppy to his normal, cocky self. There was a disturbing gleam in his eye when he shook her awake, his beautiful, grinning face filling up her vision. And there was an acceptance in his behaviour towards her that was shocking. Reggie even went so far as to tiptoe around the edges of his mind with her gift, hating him for making her feel like the worst kind of voyeur but forcing her hand by being so goddamned cheerful. She got nothing. Only the blithe, steady hum of a sense of purpose and anticipation. It confused the hell out of her. They were heading north now, and were just this side of the Louisiana/ Arkansas border when they stopped for gas. It was almost 600m from Alexandria, Louisiana to Conway, Arkansas, which was their goal, and judging by the tension that was currently causing Reggie's muscles to twitch and knot, it was going to be one hell of a long drive. She struggled to keep her mask of indifference firmly in place, while she puzzled over what was going on with Dean.
Sam climbed out of the car, stretching the cramps out of his long limbs and cricking his neck.
"I'm gonna run into the store here and grab some drinks and a snack" he said.
He leaned down to look a Reggie through the open window,
"You want anything?"
"No thanks hon" she responded absently, never taking her narrowed gaze from Dean, who was whistling quietly to himself as he pumped gas.
Sam shrugged and sauntered around the car, passing close by his brother, he pointed to the small variety store, silently repeating his earlier offer. Dean shook his head and Sam nodded. His long legs carried him quickly across the asphalt and into the cramped building.
Finishing with the gas, Dean replaced the cap on the fuel tank and walked back around to his side of the car. His lips twitched when Reggie resolutely looked away from him as he slid into the driver's seat. He knew she must be wondering what was going on. Why he was all of a sudden fine with her distant treatment of him. Truth was, he wasn't fine with it. Even knowing that in her mind it was, in some twisted way, a defense mechanism, and that she wasn't really abandoning him, it bothered him that she'd felt it was necessary to pretend. She was withdrawing and it was time to put a stop to that. Dean flexed his hands on the wheel and considered his options. He'd originally thought that he'd just wait her out. He knew that she wouldn't be able to keep it up forever, it wasn't in her nature, even though she thought that she was hiding it from him, he knew her well enough to know that hurting him would be hurting her. She was far to gentle a soul to bear easily the burden of causing pain to others. In fact, as far as he could tell, Reggie had made an unofficial career doing just the opposite. And that just made the dilemma now facing him more complicated.
He knew that if she had been pushed to the point where she would resort to this, trying to push him away with pain, she must be feeling truly terrified, trapped. He'd figured if he just accepted it, acted normally, she would see that shutting him out wasn't necessary, that he wouldn't push her, that she was safe with him, but he was getting impatient. And besides, he didn't want to just sweep it all under the rug. Living in denial wouldn't help her, what he had to do was confront her, and make her realize that he wasn't the enemy. Unfortunately, his verbal communication skills were a bit rusty and given her reaction to his last attempt at getting her to open up, he'd have to find a place where she couldn't run from or avoid him, because he was betting that if he brought up the subject again, she'd bolt before hearing a single word her had to say, either that or attack him. He didn't relish either notion. Drumming his hands on the wheel, Dean cast his eyes towards the tiny store where Sam had disappeared. There was no sign of his brother. He looked back at Reggie, noting the aloof tilt of her chin and the compression of her lips. His eyes narowed as he took in that telling sign of distress. This was hurting both of them, and it was ending, now. Dean shrugged to himself. Subtlty had never been his style. It was time to take his beautiful, tawny tigress by the tail. He looked around, but not here. Dean reached for his cell phone.
