The next morning, Dean awoke to the smell of coffee and bacon, hearing the latter sizzling and popping on the stove. He sat up in Mer's bed, stretching ostentatiously before flopping back down onto his pillow.

"Oh good, you're up," Mer noticed, grinning at him over her shoulder. "Sleep well?"

"Mmhmm," Dean answered dreamily. "How long have you been up?" he wondered.

"A few hours," Mer informed him. "I went for my morning swim and took Moose for a walk down the road. Read my book out on the porch. Tried to make myself scarce and let you get some sleep."

Dean let out a noise of ecstasy, still lying prone on his back. "Mer, you don't know how good it is to sleep in a familiar bed," he told her. "I mean these sheets smell like you, you know? I don't have to try not to think about the millions of other guests who have done who knows what on them."

"Who says I haven't had a million other guests?" Mer wondered, lifting an eyebrow.

"Because I know you," Dean returned. "I forgot to ask yesterday, but do you prefer hermit or recluse?" He grinned to himself in a self-satisfied sort of way. "Ow!" He cried, more in surprise than pain as the oven mitt Mer threw at it landed on his chest.

"You'd better stop right there, or I might rethink bringing you breakfast in bed," she taunted, waving her spatula at him with a look of reproach.

Dean chuckled, smiling blissfully up at the ceiling.

"Speaking of guests, did I hear you say last night that you and Sam are traveling together these days?" Mer asked curiously. "I thought he was at school."

"He was," Dean responded, bobbing his eyebrows. "I picked him up a little over a year ago when dad went missing. That was probably just a few weeks after I was here last."

It dawned on him that that was when he had stopped contacting Mer as regularly. When he was traveling with his dad, he had had more time to himself—moments he could steal away to make a phone call, even days at a time when he could slip away to visit. However, once Sam was in the picture, much more of his time had been devoted to keeping an eye on his little brother.

"That's why I didn't hear much from you after that," Mer observed, as if she had read his mind.

Guilt gripped Dean tightly and he sat up on an elbow, looking at Mer across the room.

"Don't," Mer halted him good-naturedly, turning back toward the stove.

"What, you're a mind reader now?" Dean joked.

"Not even," Mer snorted. "But I know your looks. You had an apology coming on."

"Well, I owe you one," Dean insisted. "I gave you a hard time about not calling me back. And here I was, forgetting I had gone radio silent for at least the first six months after picking Sam up."

"It sounds like you had your hands full," Mer reasoned. "You were in charge all of the sudden, responsible for someone. And not just anyone—Sammy."

Dean gazed at her in wordless adoration.

"What?" Mer questioned.

"Could you just not be such a good person, for once in your life?" Dean asked. "You're making the rest of us look bad."

Mer simply shook her head. "So, Sam just up and left Stanford?" she wondered. "I thought he'd sworn off hunting."

"He had," Dean admitted, somewhat darkly. "But, uh…some extenuating circumstances changed his mind."

"I don't like the sound of that," Mer said, pouring coffee into two mugs.

"He had this girlfriend at school, Jessica—Jess," Dean explained. "When we were out looking for our dad, well…the demon that got our mom came knocking."

"No," Mer practically gasped, whirling around to look at Dean. Her brow was knit in sympathy. "God, poor Sam."

Dean vividly remembered the panic that had overtaken him when he realized what had happened to Jess. "I called you, do you remember?" he wondered.

"To tell me about Jess?" Mer questioned, searching her memory. "Seems like the kind of thing I would remember…"

Dean was shaking his head. "No, I didn't say anything about Jess," he recalled. "I just…I called to make sure you were okay. I think I caught you during work. It was short."

Memory dawned on Mer. "Oh, yeah," she said. "I do sort of remember that. I thought it was strange that you would call midday. And that you would do it just to hang up a few minutes in."

"I got spooked," Dean admitted. "That thing had taken out Sam's girl, so I got worried that it might…" He flushed slightly, looking down at the duvet cover.

"Right," Mer uttered, nodding.

Dean cleared his throat, wanting to move past the moment. "Then I got to thinking, what if someone was listening in, trying to figure out who you were and where you were. I was out of my wits, so I just…hung up."

Mer took all the information in stride. "So, that's why Sam…?"

"Yeah, he took it pretty hard, obviously," Dean continued. "Couldn't seem to go back to his old life after that. Didn't want any part of it. Just wanted revenge."

"That sounds healthy," Mer stated in the deadpan way she had, serving up bacon, toast, and eggs on two plates.

Dean snorted.

"Did you ever get the thing?" Mer wondered openly as she made her way over to the bed with their plates.

Dean nodded proudly. "I put a bullet in him," he told her.

Mer's eyebrows shot up, looking somewhere between impressed and astonished. "Wow," she commented.

"Mer…you do know I kill things, right?" Dean asked. "Like…for a living?"

"Well, yeah," Mer replied, doubling back toward the kitchen to get their coffees. "In theory. It's still just so weird to me. You're so…I don't know, gentle?"

"Gentle?" Dean grunted, peeling his eyes off his plate and looking at her quizzically.

Mer chuckled. "Sorry if that's not cool to say," she said. "I know ego is a big thing for you."

Dean couldn't help the grin that spanned across his face. He snorted. "Gentle."

She handed him his mug and took a seat on the end of the bed at his feet, blowing on her coffee to cool it. "It's like I told you last night, I'm not afraid of you. I know you would never hurt me. And I feel safest when I'm with you."

Dean looked at her thoughtfully before letting another smile filter through. "I'm gonna take that to mean you think I can kick ass," he joked.

Mer rolled her eyes and took a tentative sip of her coffee. "Now go on and dig in. I don't want my hard work to go to waste."

Dean looked down at his plate, practically salivating. "This is downright erotic," he stated.

Mer wrinkled her nose. "There you go, blurring the lines between food and sex," she said, shaking her head and cracking a smile. She reached for her own plate and tucked in, seated cross-legged at the foot of the bed.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while before Mer glanced up at Dean. "So, you killed this demon?" she questioned.

Dean nodded, his expression growing stormy. "Yeah, but not in time to stop him opening the door to hell."

"I'm sorry," Mer said, putting her fork down and wiping her mouth with a napkin. "The door to hell?"

Dean stared down into his almost empty plate, mouth a hard line. "You heard me," he answered glumly.

"You didn't think to lead with that when you showed up yesterday?" Mer asked, raising her eyebrows.

"What, lead with the fact that I failed the entire freaking planet?" Dean demanded, looking up at her with an expression of utmost shame.

"Hey," Mer consoled, setting her mug down on her plate and scooting closer to put a hand on his knee. "That's not what I meant. I was just being an ass, all right?"

"Sure," Dean uttered.

"And if you can have a little faith in me," she said, echoing his remarks from the previous night, "It wasn't your fault."

"How do you know?" Dean questioned challengingly.

"Because the idea that you wouldn't have done everything in your power to prevent it just doesn't fly with me," Mer told him, all compassion. She reached out a hand and placed it on the side of his neck, tenderly tracing her fingers up and down. "And the idea that the fate of the planet rests on one person's shoulders…that's just crazy."

Dean let out a soft sigh, unconsciously leaning into her touch. "I guess you're right," he admitted, not sounding entirely convinced. "But it felt that way, you know. I feel like I failed, Mer."

Mer seemed to falter, clearly weighing something in her mind, and a pregnant pause ensued. As Dean cleared his throat, ready to break the silence, she leaned forward and gingerly pressed her lips to his, letting the moment last a few long seconds before pulling away. One of Dean's arms had instinctively wrapped around her waist, drawing her near. He held her there for a moment, gazing into her eyes.

"No matter what you do, Dean Winchester, you'll never be a failure in my eyes," she told him genuinely. "There's just no way."

Then the spell was broken and Mer inched away to resume her seat at the end of the bed, being careful not to disturb her almost full cup of coffee. "So, what do you want to do while you're here?" she asked curiously, moving a forkful of breakfast into her mouth.

Dean gulped down some coffee as he mulled her question over. "I don't know, really," he answered. "No plans. Just needed to get away."

"It's all making sense now," Mer said.

"What?" Dean wondered.

"You usually show up on my doorstep right after a big hunt—or when you're on the cusp of a bigger one," Mer replied, in the astute way she had. When Dean looked uncomfortable, she added, "Nothing wrong with a little escapism. I'd do it too."

Dean said nothing, but thought: I visit when I'm worried there won't be a next time. This sobered him, as the reality he had been trying so hard to keep at bay began seeping in.

"What's going on up there?" Mer questioned, gesturing at him with her fork. "I don't like it when you're silent like that."

He sat back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. "I was just thinking about what we could do this week," he lied, but well enough to draw her off the scent. "I wouldn't mind getting up in the mountains some afternoon, hike till we see snow."

"That won't be very far, this time of year," Mer told him, bobbing her eyebrows. She smiled. "I know you're dying to get out on that lake one of these mornings."

"Well, that was a given." Dean returned her smile, thinking of the stillness of the lake at dawn. "How long are you off work?"

"Don't get any big ideas," Mer said, giving him a look. "I keep that tackle box in the shed for you. I don't have the patience for fishing."

Dean chuckled. "But do you have the patience to sit around waiting for me to come in?"

Mer scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I think I'll manage."

Dean bobbed his eyebrows, as if disbelieving.

"Maybe I'll just sit around on the porch and think about my rummy strategy," Mer mused, tapping her chin. "I think you're due for an ass whooping."

"I'd like to see you try," Dean snorted. "I am the reigning champ from last time, remember?"

Mer laughed, shaking her head. "I missed you, Dean," she said, her tone betraying a note of tenderness.

"Missed you too," Dean replied, feeling it deep in his chest.

They sat there staring at each other as the seconds crept by. Mer was the first to move, unfolding her legs and standing from the bed. She carefully picked up her plate and mug and deposited them on the bedside table. She turned to Dean next, gesturing at him to give her his plate and cup, both eaten and drunk clean. After she had stowed their dishes, she climbed back onto the bed, into Dean's lap, straddling him.

Dean gazed up at her, the question clear in his expression. To answer, Mer grabbed the hemline of her shirt, deliberately pulling it over her head and tossing it to the side. Dean placed his hands on her hips, then moved them up the length of her torso slowly, feeling the softness of her skin over her ribcage, never breaking eye contact. He followed the gentle curve of her breasts before his hands found their way to her back. Moving with caution, he inched his way up toward her shoulder blades. When he felt the bulbous scar tissue that marked the site of her bullet wound, his hand paused.

"It's okay," Mer assured him in an undertone.

"It's not," Dean replied in a hush, surprised to feel the sting of tears as he blindly touched her scar.

Mer uttered no answer, but angled her head down to kiss him fully on the mouth—a kiss drastically different from the one they had exchanged moments before. Her hands held either side of his face and he wrapped his arms around her with more authority, securing them together like pieces of a puzzle. Dean felt the cautious nature of their intimacy evaporating, paving the way for what was by now a well-traveled road for the two of them.

Afterward as they lay there, Dean thought back to all the hook-ups he'd had throughout the past year—the drunken make-outs in bar bathrooms, the sloppy one-night stands. He would give them all up forever for moments like this; Mer's back pressed to his bare chest, the scent and warmth of her seeming to radiate into him. He brushed her hair to the side and kissed the nape of her neck. His eyes drifted down to her shoulder blade, where the bullet wound marred the smooth skin of her back. He hadn't laid eyes on it until now, the almost perfect circle of scar tissue overlaying her skin like a wax seal. Angling his head down, he pressed his lips to the spot, acknowledging it as part of her.

"That bastard's lucky he's in jail," he murmured against her skin. "Or I'd hunt him down and serve justice myself."

Mer slowly rotated until she was facing him, her warm brown eyes boring into his. "If you ever land yourself behind bars on my account, I swear to God, Dean," she hissed, surprising him with her fervor. "You're no good to me in jail—I need you out here."

"Mer—"

"Do you understand me?" she demanded.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean uttered.

"Hm, I like the sound of that," Mer responded, her demeanor swiftly turning playful. She rolled on top of him, pinning his arms to the bed on either side of his head.

Dean's eyebrows lifted and he stared up at her, intrigued. "You do?"

Mer smiled down at him coyly, tightening her hold on his wrists. "What do you think?" she asked.

"I think I'd like you to do whatever you want to me, baby," Dean lusted, smirking up at her.