**Content warning: This chapter includes descriptions of relationship abuse. Visit Love is Respect if you need support.**

Ten minutes later, Dean tentatively opened the front door, a sliver of light falling across Mer's back as he did so. She was huddled on one side of the steps, leaning her head against the supporting rail. He cleared his throat softly to announce his presence and when she didn't utter any sort of protest, he lowered himself down on the opposite end of the top step. He could see in the weak, silvery light of the moon that Mer's face was slick with tears.

"You hungry?" Dean asked carefully, putting a bowl of stew down between them.

Mer shook her head. "No. Stomach's in knots," she replied, sniffing and pulling a sleeve up over her hand to dab at her eyes.

"Thirsty?" Dean tried again, sliding a glass of whiskey next to the bowl.

Mer took it with an unsteady hand, bringing it instantly to her lips and taking a big gulp.

"I brought you a blanket, too," Dean offered, taking it down off his shoulder and handing it across to her. "I-I figured, you know, if you were cold inside, you must be near frozen out here."

Mer made no move to accept it, but turned her head to look at him wordlessly, eyes glassy with tears. Slowly, her face twisted into what he knew to be a look of apology. "Dean, I—"

"Don't say it," Dean interjected gently, bunching the blanket up in his lap. "I'm the one who's sorry. I was out of line, Mer. Way out of line, all of it—the holy water, the yelling…" He fiddled with his ring. "I didn't mean to…to scare you."

"You don't scare me," Mer murmured.

"Mer, you don't have to make excuses," Dean told her, snorting derisively at himself. "I know what fear looks like. Hell, I…I've felt that fear."

"I didn't say I wasn't scared," Mer made clear. "But I know you would never do anything to hurt me." She met his eyes, and he could see how serious she was. "That's how we argue, you and me. We yell. It's just been a while, I guess. There are things about me that've changed, but I hadn't realized how much."

"Mer…" Dean uttered, a hint of desperation in his voice. "What's going on?"

Mer downed the rest of her whiskey and set the glass beside her, letting the silence drag out. Finally, she let out a sigh, fixing her eyes on the distant, dark surface of the lake. "There's a reason I never returned your calls," she admitted, frowning. "I'd like to say if I'd known what you were calling about, it would have been different, but…" She shook her head again and her eyes filled with fresh tears.

"I met someone," she began. "Actually, the week after you visited last. I don't know if you remember me telling you, but my girlfriends and I went to Denver for a weekend trip."

Dean listened intently, some small part of him unable to believe that Mer would have been so afraid to tell him she'd fallen for someone else. Another small, surprising part of him was gutted at the very thought.

"I met Elijah at a bar one night when we were out. It went pretty quick after that. I was back and forth to Denver a few times, he came to see me here. It was…nice. I hadn't really dated anyone in years. And he was handsome, smart, successful—kind of the whole package, if you believe in that kind of thing," Mer explained, in a detached sort of way. "We talked about being exclusive and suddenly he was here every weekend. We were six months in when I realized I was in love with him. I'll take that blanket now."

Dean was startled by her request. "Oh, yeah, sure," he mumbled, picking it up and lobbing it to her.

Mer wrapped the blanket around herself and trudged on. "I was over the moon when he told me his company had green-lighted him for remote work—and that he had already found a place in town to rent. He had asked me to move in with him in Denver a dozen times, so I thought it was some big romantic gesture when he decided to compromise for me.

"Then he started showing up at the clinic unexpectedly. He would question me about any male client who happened to bring his dog or cat in. Then it was interrogating me about my guy friends, demanding to know who I was taking phone calls from—even reading through my emails and texts. It got to the point where if I so much as looked up at the guy who was taking our coffee order, it would start a fight.

"I stopped being so friendly at work, started ignoring my friends, even changed what I wore so that I wouldn't attract any unwanted attention. But we'd still fight. One night, we were making dinner here and my phone rang. When he saw that it was a man's name on the caller I.D., he flew off the handle. He…he hit me. A-and it was the first time, but it wouldn't be the last."

Dean's knuckles were white as he gripped his knees, expending a lot of effort to keep from exploding in fury. He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath in through his nose, but staying decidedly wordless. When he stole a glance at Mer, her expression related a deep-held shame.

"The last few months of our relationship were hell," she explained. "He apologized after the first time, acted so sweet for a while. But it was like once he opened that door, there was no closing it. He was set off by less and less and, eventually, it seemed like he didn't need a reason.

"Then he made the mistake of landing me in the hospital." She absently touched above her right eye, where Dean saw a faint, white scar he had neglected to notice as new. "He shoved me down these stairs, actually. I bruised my ribs and had to get stitches above this eye. The telltale signs were there and the doctors picked up on it right away. One day, one of the nurses came and asked me some questions. That set a whole plan in motion."

Dean let out a soft, inaudible breath, feeling the tightness in his chest evaporate. However, when he turned and saw the look on Mer's face—complete with fresh tears—he knew there would be more to the story.

"I was a day away from being free of him," Mer continued. "The hospital staff had put me in contact with a safe house a couple towns over and I made all the preparations to leave. My last night in town, he came over—he came over every night at that point, whether I wanted him to or not. Everything was going fine until we were getting ready for bed and he noticed some of my photos that I kept on my dresser were gone." She swallowed hard. "He was an observant son of a bitch, I'll give him that."

"He grabbed me by the neck and pinned me up against the wall—it took one look for me to know that that was it, he was gonna try to kill me. Somehow I was able to land a kick to his groin and get free. I ran like hell.

"I was planning on running over to the neighbors' when I heard a gunshot. I never even knew he carried one, but I knew my plan was no good at that point; I wouldn't make it that far. So I beelined it for the dock. I remember thinking 'if I can just make it to the water.'

"So I'm running, and I feel a shot land just behind one of my heels—all the gravel and stuff stirred up. Then, I hear—" For the first time throughout the whole story, Mer's voice caught and she had to collect herself before going on. "I hear Tiny barking like he's fit to kill. That bastard…" She shook her head vehemently. "I looked over my shoulder and saw that he had jumped on Elijah. I just kept running full-on toward the dock, but I heard the shot."

Moose, as if she could understand every word, came hulking out of her Igloo and sat at the foot of the porch, gazing up at Mer with the devotion only a dog has. Mer sniffed and scooted down to the bottom step, putting her hands on either side of the mastiff's head and scratching her ears. "Moose here is a coward—afraid of sudden noises—so she was hiding in her Igloo, thank God. I couldn't have stood to lose the both of them."

Dean tried time and time again to swallow past the lump that rose in his throat, but found it impossible.

Mer took his silence as a signal to keep going. "Tiny saved my life. He bought me those few moments I needed to get out of range. Didn't stop Elijah from putting a couple in me though—just not in the place he'd wanted them."

"What?" Dean rasped, unable to contain his reaction.

"I took one in the back of my shoulder and the other in the back of my thigh," Mer explained, patting both areas in turn. "That's why…" She looked over her shoulder at Dean. "That's why I said no, before. I-I didn't want you to see…" She let out an exhausted sigh. "I knew the moment I took my clothes off, I wouldn't be able to hide this from you."

Dean digested her words for a moment. "I'm sorry you had to hide this from me at all, Mer," he told her softly. "You were right. I made this all about me. I never stopped to think…" He scooted his way down the steps until he was level with her once more, albeit still against the far railing. "Sure, I fight monsters out on the road, but you had one terrorizing you day in and day out. Staying in your house. Sleeping in your bed. I…" He shook his head, his voice having gone weak toward the end. His eyes were rimmed with tears.

Mer gazed at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

"What?" Dean wondered.

"I don't know," Mer admitted. "I guess I was expecting a 'Why didn't you call me?' or something. Maybe a 'How could you let this happen?'" She shrugged weakly. "Some explanation—"

"Mer, you just explained yourself to me," Dean interjected. "That story—what he put you through—that's all the reason I need." He met her eyes, letting out a sound of disbelief. "Look, I know I can be a blockhead, but I would never blame you for something like this. This sure as hell wasn't your fault."

She averted her gaze and realization hit Dean like a freight train. "Mer, come here," he beckoned. She shook her head obstinately, determinedly looking in the other direction. "Mer," Dean tried again, his voice even softer than before and thick with emotion. "Will you look at me?"

Mer resigned, angling her body toward him and meeting his eyes with noticeable apprehension.

"Now, normally, you'd be a fool to listen to me," Dean told her, looking her squarely. "I think we've both known for a while that you're the brains of this operation." Mer let out a tearful chuckle, bringing slight smile to Dean's lips, however fleeting. "But until you can believe this for yourself, I need you to put some faith in me, okay?"

She nodded, looking like she was fighting back more tears.

"Everything that happened this past year, none of it was your fault," Dean told her firmly, though his voice quaked. "What that son of a bitch did to you was his own doing and you didn't deserve any of it. It's not your fault for falling in love with him or taking him at his word. It's not your fault for staying with him because…well, because your life depended on it. You did what you had to do to survive. You're a survivor and you're goddamn stronger than I'll ever be—than anyone I know."

Mer scooted across the step and into Dean, anchoring herself against his chest. He enclosed her in his arms and held her to him.

After a while, she craned her head to look up at him. "Don't cry on my account, Dean," she murmured, reaching up and wiping away his few loose tears with the backs of her fingers.

Dean sniffed heartily. "Who says I'm crying for you?" he retorted, as jocularly as he could manage.

"For Tiny, then?" Mer questioned.

"For Tiny," Dean agreed. "Damn dog."

After they had sat in silence for a long while, Dean dared to ask: "What happened then?"

"There was someone home next door in the rental," Mer continued. "Luckily, it was one of the owners—the folks who rent it usually mind their own."

The properties were so spaced out along the lake that Dean wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Mer's neighbors. The house to the right of hers had been a vacation rental since she'd moved in. There was an old couple living out their retirement in the behemoth house to the left; she'd told Dean the only time they crossed paths was when she'd run into them at the grocery store on occasion. Dean had often worried about how isolated Mer was out at her place, but had never imagined something as horrific as what she was describing.

"I guess they heard the shots and came running," Mer was explaining. "By that point I had swum clear to the middle of the lake."

"With two bullet holes in you?" Dean questioned, sounding somewhere between horrified and impressed.

Mer nodded against his chest. "I was pure adrenaline by that point—and thank God. The water was freezing and I was losing blood fast. The adrenaline kept me alive until the cops showed up and I felt safe enough to swim in."

"You swam in?" Dean asked in the same tone.

"More or less," Mer answered. "But it was slow going. The paramedics were smart enough to hop in the skiff and meet me halfway. They dragged my ass out and the next thing I remember I was waking up in the hospital the next morning."

"And Elijah?"

"He's locked up for seven," Mer replied.

"Seven?" Dean asked, then more impassioned: "Seven?"

"He has money, he got a good lawyer," Mer said, sounding jaded about the whole thing. "It was second degree, first of all—no clear premeditation. I believe the unofficial legal term is 'a fit of passion.'" She rolled her eyes. "And because I never filed any of the other abuse with the police, my case was pretty weak. His lawyer even brought my dad into it—said with my 'family history' I would have been wary of someone like Elijah. The whole 'why didn't I just leave?' if it was so bad. They have a way of flipping that kind of stuff."

Dean was quiet, imagining Mer having to endure the trial, the injustice of it all, alone. He imagined her sitting by herself on the bench and his chest felt like it might cave in. "I would have given anything to be there," he murmured, voice strangled with the rage and devastation he felt.

"I would have liked that," Mer admitted, tracing a mindless pattern on his chest. "I actually might have called you—I had no pride whatsoever at that point. But I was in such a fog, it was a tall order just to get out of bed most days."

She was such a formidable woman in Dean's mind—smart, independent, strong-willed. When he thought of her when they were apart, she was always larger than life. But in that moment, holding her in his arms, she felt small and fragile, like a bird with a broken wing. He hated to think of her so beaten down. His mind visited the impossible reality it tended to when he was with her; if he was someone else, living a different life, they would both be spared the vulnerability that came with being apart.

"What are you thinking about?" Mer asked softly.

"Nothing," Dean uttered. "I guess…I guess I'm just wondering how you got through it all."

"I'm not out of the woods yet," Mer told him. "Believe me, I'm far from it. But taking the time off of work has helped; you know I love what I do, but now I have all sorts of time for myself. I take long walks with Moose, I go up into the mountains, I spend all day reading on the dock, perfect my recipes. And I go to therapy—couple times a week." She shifted, somewhat uncomfortably. "I know the very idea makes you squirm, but it's worked wonders for me."

"Hey, I'm not judging," he reassured her. "Whatever it is that's working, I'm glad it is. I just wish…"

"I used to wish I could snap my fingers and make it all better, too," Mer admitted, echoing his thoughts. "But I've realized that this work I'm doing…it's worth something. I think I've needed to do it for a long time."

After another notable pause, Mer reached up and traced Dean's jawline with her finger. "Is there something you wanna talk about, Dean?" she asked, in the gentlest way she knew how. "I know you don't like anyone prying, but I know what these long pauses mean."

Dean let out a soft sound, almost like a laugh. "I've got so much I wanna talk to you about," he admitted, not having the slightest idea where to start. "But we've got all week, Mer."